


The Holly and the Ivy (War is Over)

by Scarlett_Lucian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Advent Challenge, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Holiday Fic Exchange, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, Light Angst, M/M, Mistletoe, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Prompt Fic, Romance, Snowball Fight, draco malfoy plays the piano, gratuitous snow, partially
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 32,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlett_Lucian/pseuds/Scarlett_Lucian
Summary: Harry Potter has always loved Christmas. But five years after he defeated Voldemort, he is not in the spirit of the season. Hounded by reporters everywhere he goes and expected by the Ministry to attend endless stuffy holiday parties, Harry has had enough of it all.So when Hermione suggests he skip town and spend the weeks leading up to Christmas in a small Muggle village, he leaps at the chance. He can finally enjoy the holidays in peace.But when he arrives, instead of the anonymous peace he imagined, he runs into an old nemesis, who is somehow both everything and nothing like he expected.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 269
Kudos: 155





	1. Tis the Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [larosesombre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larosesombre/gifts).



> Hello all! Happy almost holidays!  
> So, the lovely larosesombre and I wanted something extra to get in the holiday spirit this year to end the dismality that has been 2020 on a high note and we decided to do an advent calendar of prompts for each other! Each day, we will send each other a prompt and have to write another chapter of our fics and post them for you all to enjoy (hopefully)!  
> And so, without further ado, my first prompt:  
> "The first snow of the season."

Harry Potter, Saviour of the wizarding world, Chosen One, and renowned recipient of his mother’s eyes, was frazzled.  
He had been making his way through the bustling crowds in Diagon Alley for a little over an hour, searching for Christmas presents for his friends, and he had yet to purchase a single gift. Although this was through no fault of his own, as a snarl of reporters and fawning wizards and witches had been following him the entire time, blocking his way into shops and being a general nuisance.  
“Look this way, Mr. Potter!”  
“Will you sign my forehead in the shape of your scar?”  
“Where are you spending the holidays, Mr. Potter?”  
“Mr. Potter, right this way!”  
“How did You-Know-Who smell?”  
“Are you seeing anyone, Mr. Potter?”  
“When I grow up, I want to be just like you!”  
Harry ducked towards Flourish and Blots, determined to get through the door and find that new transfiguration text Hermione had been mentioning, but he was jostled back by the crowd, which continued to grow by the minute.  
He sighed. “Look, if you all could just stand back for a moment,” he said, trying to raise his voice above the hubbub. But the crowd paid him no attention, simply pressing closer and yelling their demands and questions louder, camera shutters snapping in a near continuous roar.  
It was too much.  
Harry gave up, tugging out his wand from his coat pocket, and Apparating, swooshing out of the frenzied crowd in a second.  
In an instant, he was standing in the street in front of Ron and Hermione’s house. The quiet was deafening, the memory of the roaring reporters ringing in his ears as he sucked in a deep breath. Fives years after Voldemort’s downfall and it still felt like the first time he had walked into the Leaky Cauldron after the Battle of Hogwarts: people asking him for autographs, the press firing questions as fast as they snapped pictures, a general hungry look on everyone’s faces. They all wanted something from him. Fame, money, hope, comfort.  
Before the Battle, people had known who he was. But he was still a vague hope more than anything else. Someone to be kept an eye on, sure, but still just a kid with dead parents and a funny scar. Good for an opinion piece or two, but still no one really worth obsessing over.  
But that all changed after he killed Voldemort. Now he was a hero, someone who had actually done something, someone to be looked up to.  
He couldn’t go anywhere in wizard England without being swarmed by press and fans. He didn’t know why he had thought today would be different. How he had deluded himself into thinking somehow he would be able to walk through Diagon Alley doing his Christmas shopping just like any other bloke.  
He sighed. It was colder here, a harsh breeze whipping down the quiet street lined with small houses crammed tightly side by side like they were huddling together for warmth. The bright red door on Ron and Hermione’s house blared cheerily, tucked between the gray clouded sky and dark pavement.  
A car rattled past the street and Harry stepped out of the road onto the side walk. He was early for dinner but his friends wouldn’t mind him coming in out of the December cold.  
He shoved his wand back into his pocket as he walked towards their steps, but paused, attention caught on a speck on his sleeve. Frowning, he looked closer and saw that it was a small, white flake. Seconds later, another one joined it, lilting out of the sky and sticking on the thick black fabric.  
Harry tipped his head back, staring up at the dark clouds as more snowflakes began to drift down softly, landing on his glasses, dotting his coat, and catching in his hair. The first snow of the year. A magic that Harry looked forward to every year that couldn’t be captured by any spell. Something that had always given him hope, even when he had just come out of his cupboard and glimpsed it through the window above the stove where he was making the Dursleys’ breakfast.  
Something that now glanced on a dull hum of anger in him.  
“Damn it,” he said, frustrated. He stormed up the steps, half knocking on the red door before pushing inside.  
“The first snow was bloody ruined for me!” He shouted, kicking off his shoes and coming into the cozy living room. Ron looked up in surprise from a chess board.  
“Hello, mate, what’s this about the first snow?” He asked cheerfully, standing up to hug Harry hello.  
“It’s happening right now and instead of breathing it in and smiling so hard it hurts, it’s tainted by that fucking crowd.” Harry threw himself onto the squashy yellow couch, stewing.  
“Harry! I thought I heard you. You’re early,” Hermione said happily, coming into the room and sitting beside Harry, leaning over to hug him.  
“Harry’s had another run-in,” Ron said knowingly, sitting on Harry’s other side. “And it messed up his first snow.”  
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Hermione’s face fell with sympathy. She and Ron had seen how he had lit up every Christmas and how he had stared in delight at the decorations around Hogwarts and the dinners Mrs. Weasley would cook.  
Christmas was important to Harry. It had been some of his only happy childhood memories from living with the Dursleys, when Dudley had been too distracted by his presents to bully him and there was so much food that even he could eat until he was stuffed. Then when he had gone to Hogwarts, the sheer magic that was displayed around the castle during the season was a reminder every day of the new world he had been given. It was the first time he had been given a present that wasn’t carelessly thrown at him at the last minute.  
And now this mark of the holiday season had been tarnished by the results of a fame he had stumbled across in self defense.  
“Sorry to barge in like this,” he said, blood cooling as he sat between his two best friends, who understood implicitly what was happening to him without him even having to say a word.  
“No worries, mate.” Ron patted him on the shoulder. “Sorry to hear about the crowd.”  
Harry shrugged. “I should have expected it. I mean, I was in Diagon Alley. What did I think was going to happen? I’d walk down the street like I was wearing the Cloak?”  
Ron winced. “You were in Diagon Alley? You never stood a chance.”  
“Ron,” Hermione hissed.  
“It’s alright, Hermione,” Harry said. “He’s right. I can’t just waltz through the busiest wizard street in England. Merlin, it would have been nice though. To just slip through, unnoticed, and be able to enjoy the beginning of the holidays.”  
“Have you gotten any invitations yet?” Hermione asked hesitantly.  
“Hermione!” Now it was Ron’s turn to admonish.  
“Oh, Godric, I’d forgotten about those,” Harry groaned, putting his face in his hands. “I’m sure the Ministry will be sending me a list of events any day now.” Dinners and parties where Harry would be expected to put on a nice pair of robes, smile, not drink too much, and say a short, sickeningly pleasant speech about all the fine work the Ministry had done in the past year to help the poor and the rich and the sick and the healthy. Where he would be expected to smile benevolently and say everything was going to be alright, when he barely knew if he was alright.  
“I’m so sorry, Harry,” Hermione said gently, rubbing a hand over his back.  
He smiled up at her half-heartedly. “It’s alright. I’ve made it through five years of this, I’ll survive this round.”  
“But you shouldn’t have to,” Hermione insisted firmly, a sudden familiar spark coming into her eyes. The same one that Harry had seen before she punched Malfoy and when she had realized the line-up of potions was a riddle in first year. The one that meant she had an idea.  
“You should go on holiday!”  
“What?” Harry asked, half laughing. “I am on holiday. I don’t have a job. I’m literally on permanent holiday.”  
“That’s not what I meant,” she said, exasperated, but grinning as she got to her feet. “You should go on holiday away from London. Go enjoy the season in some small Muggle town and forget about all the Ministry parties and the reporters and everything.”  
“He can’t do that,” Ron said obviously.  
“Of course he can! He’s Harry freaking Potter! He can do whatever he damn pleases,” Hermione shot back determinedly, eyes bright.  
“Well, I dunno,” Harry said slowly, a strange glow warming inside of him despite himself. “Where would I go?”  
Hermione smiled triumphantly. “See, I knew you’d like it! Ron, where did you put the Prophet from this morning?”  
Her fiancé stared at her. “What do you mean, where did I put the Prophet? Have you gone deaf? Harry practically just said he’d go!”  
“Ron, just answer the question!” She said impatiently, scanning the living room for the paper.  
“Sometimes I really don’t understand you,” Ron said helplessly. “It’s on the kitchen table.”  
Puzzled, but with a growing shiver of excitement, Harry watched as Hermione ducked into the other room and returned with the paper, eagerly shaking out the folds as she sat back on the couch.  
“It was in here somewhere,” she muttered to herself, scanning the smudged columns of text and rustling through the pages. “Ah, here it is!”  
She spread the paper across the coffee table, pressing a finger against a small article. “I saw it as I was reading this morning. There’s someone in Painswick looking to rent out a room in their house during the holidays. I’m guessing they’re trying to get a wizard or witch so they can charge extra for the Floo connection.”  
Harry studied the article, a roiling of anticipation forming despite himself as he looked at a photograph of a well-kept house with tidy rows of rosebushes edging out from either side of the front door.  
“This person is obviously magical, but is the majority of the town Muggles?” Harry asked, trying to sound casual while his mind was already conjuring up images of a snow-covered village glowing in preparation for the holidays. But most importantly, a snow-covered village where he could walk down the street, enjoying the sight without being mobbed by reporters or well-wishers.  
Hermione nodded. “Yes, Painswick is a Muggle town. You shouldn’t be recognized at all there and I’m sure you could get the magician who owns the house to sign a non-disclosure. They’re certainly charging enough.”  
Harry paused, rolling the facts around in his head. The Ministry would be angry if he tossed them the bird and disappeared, but then again, he didn’t particularly care what they thought of him. He never had.  
It was tempting. To grab this taste of freedom and enjoy his holiday in peace. So many days and nights suddenly possessing opportunity instead of confinement and smiling at society and pretending to be okay. Pretending to have control over his life, instead of being tossed between strangers who thought they needed him.  
“I’ll do it.”  
He looked over at his friends, still unsure that he had said the words aloud.  
“Good on you, mate,” Ron said proudly. “You could use a break.”  
“I’ll owl the house owner right now!” Hermione smiled at him in satisfaction, before disappearing into the kitchen, paper clutched in her hand.  
Ron shook his head fondly. “She loves a project. Some chess while we wait?”  
“Sure.”  
But as Harry slid over on the couch to sit behind the board, his mind wasn’t focused on the game.  
Because he was going to be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments!  
> I'm really looking forward to the next 24 days and reveling in this fluffy holiday goodness!  
> larosesombre is writing for the Deep Space 9 Star Trek fandom, so if that's something you'd be interested be, please go read her fic as well for a double shot of holiday fluff!  
> Comments and/or kudos bring me as much happiness as wearing my Gryffindor scarf during the first snow. :)


	2. Winter Wonderland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to round two!   
> Today's prompt from the lovely larosesombre is:  
> "Slipping on ice."  
> An experience I'm sure more than a few of you can relate to, especially, if like me, you're stubborn and wear heels during the winter. Now, I consider myself a pretty seasoned veteran heel wearer who usually can run, go up and down hills, and not die on stairs, but add ice in, which Canadian weather often does, and boom! Not even Merlin can save you.  
> Anyhow, moving on from my rambling, let's get on with the chapter!

Harry’s small flat looked as though it had been ransacked. Clothes were flung across the bedroom, as he rummaged through his wardrobe and grabbed anything he thought he might need for his vacation. Hermione had lent him her bottomless bag and he stuffed in a final armful of jumpers before closing it and tucking it into his coat pocket beside his wand.

Taking one last look around his messy flat, a thrill of excitement ran up his spine. It would be awhile before he saw this place again. The owner of the house had written back to Hermione’s query within half an hour, saying that a non-disclosure was not a problem at all and that the room was his, so for the next few weeks, Harry would be enjoying all the charm and peace afforded by a small English village. The thought made him smile every time it darted through his head.

“Comb your hair!” The mirror yelled at him as he turned on his heel and Apparated, popping out around the corner from a nearby bus station. He had arranged with the house owner to Floo over for 4 pm, however as soon as Harry had woken up, he knew he wouldn’t be able to wait that long to get started. So he bought himself a bus ticket out to Painswick. He would arrive around lunch time and spend the afternoon exploring the village, before heading up to the house at the prearranged time.

It was snowing again, the flakes heavier than the day before, clumping on the sidewalk under his feet.

The bus slid up to the curb in a slick wave of slush, warmth emanating through the doors. Harry stepped up into the vehicle, passing his ticket to the driver, and settling himself into a seat beside the window.

The bus roared through London and out into the countryside. Harry looked out his clouded window eagerly. It had been ages since he had been on Muggle transport of any kind, as he usually just Apparated or Flooed places. It was rather soothing to be able to see the space being traversed instead of simply jumping from one place to another in the blink of an eye.

After a few hours of driving, the bus rattled to a stop on the edge of a quaint village, the sign announcing that it was indeed Painswick. Thanking the driver, Harry stumbled out into the cold air, legs slightly numb from sitting for so long.

Left in a cloud of exhaust as the bus departed, Harry began to make his way down the road towards the stout buildings of the town, boots sinking into the thick snow that coated the ground, a cheery contrast to the mucky streets in London. The sky was a brilliant, clear blue, the sun gleaming off of the crisp snow, throwing blinding sparkles into the air.

It looked like a perfect wonderland and it was everything Harry had wanted.

His excitement only increased as he came to the town, following the narrow winding streets through the charming stone buildings, letting pure fancy guide him.

Strings of fairy lights edged some of the storefronts, with wreaths hung on nearly every other door. Snow clung delicately to the roof tops, incandescent icicles piercing down from the edges like crystalline vampire teeth.

Harry continued to wander, smiling hello whenever he passed people. People who simply nodded politely back, instead of screaming at him about something and starting a frenzied rush of onlookers. No one carried that he was Harry Potter. No one cared that he had a jagged lightening scar, or had been forced to fight a war against a murderer. He was just a twenty-three year old bloke who looked like he could use a haircut. None of these people knew anything about him. He could be in uni studying philosophy or the lead singer in a band or a good-for-nothing who still lived in his parents’ basement watching telly all day. None of them knew a goddamn thing about him.

And it was exhilarating.

His step grew lighter and a broad grin stretched across his face as he kept on, accidentally coming across a large square that he presumed was the center of town. A dozen stalls were set up in a rough circle, in some sort of market. Scents of chocolate and warm bread wafted through the air towards him and Harry found himself walking towards the set-up, a slight ache in his stomach reminding him that he had been too excited to eat breakfast.

Reaching for some of the Muggle money he had stashed in his pocket, he made his way towards a stall selling hot drinks and pastries, falling into the back of the short line in front of it. He was on vacation for Merlin’s sake, and Hermione and Mrs. Weasley weren’t around to stop him, so he was going to have dessert first if he bloody felt like it.

As the line slowly crept forward, Harry began to examine the menu chalked across a blackboard in soft greens and reds. The people walking away with their orders had lattes that smelled of gingerbread and hot chocolate with snowflakes sprinkles dotting the whipped cream. It was all wonderfully festive, reminding Harry of something Dumbledore would have done.

“Why is it all so goddamn festive?” An exasperated voice said loudly.

The man in front of Harry had reached the stall and was speaking to the barista, hands gesturing to the menu.

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just saying that our peppermint mochas were excellent,” the barista said timidly.

The man snorted. Harry gritted his teeth, still staring at the chalked drink descriptions. He was on vacation; he was here to enjoy himself and relax, not get into fights with people over coffee.

“What can I get you?” The barista asked, trying to get back on the right track.

“One black coffee.”

“Would you like sugar or milk with that?”

Although he was trying not to listen and simply decide whether he wanted a candy cane hot chocolate or an apple pie latte, Harry winced pre-emptively for the employee, as the man let out a long-suffering sigh.

“You work at a coffee stall, so surely you know what the order ‘one black coffee’ means? Obviously not. All I want is one plain coffee, with nothing in it at all, and some patience sent down from heaven so I can deal with your incompetence.” The edges of the man’s posh accent became dangerously crisp.

The barista squeaked. “Sorry, here you go!”

Coins thudded against the counter. “Good day.”

“Lids are right over there. Next!”

Harry stepped up to the counter, determined to be as friendly as possible to make up for the snooty bastard before him. “Hi there, I would like a—”

But Harry would never get to tell the barista what he wanted, as he stepped forward onto an unseen sheet of ice, losing his footing as his legs were swept out from under him. He clutched desperately for something to break his fall, managing to grab onto something warm, but the object was not as stable as he’d hoped, and he pulled it down on top of him as he tumbled down onto the snowy ground, glasses thrown off and the wind knocked out of him in a gasp.

Harry closed his eyes, fighting desperately to catch his breath, as the thing he’d grabbed onto shifted.

“What the bloody fuck?”

Harry’s heart sunk, as he recognized the low voice of the rude plain coffee man. Who he’d just knocked to the ground. Brilliant. Maybe Harry had cracked his head open during the fall. He didn’t think the man would yell at him if he was dying. Well, not as much anyway.

Summoning up all the Gryffindor courage he had, Harry opened his eyes, bracing himself for the vicious tirade he was certainly was about to be hurled at him.

The man’s face came into focus, a furious scowl etched across his brow. A familiar scowl, even through his blurry vision.

Harry felt as though the ground had opened up beneath him, as he gapped up at the man.

“Malfoy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the meet-cute has landed! Literally! Buckle up folks!  
> If you've enjoyed what you've seen, please subscribe to get notified about future chapters! And as always, kudos and/or comments bring me happiness like that I get from eating pad thai. ;)


	3. Silver Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #4
> 
> "I think somebody's spiked the eggnog."

“Potter?”

Harry watched as Malfoy’s face went blank with surprise, grey eyes flitting across his features as if counting to be sure it was him. Scar, check, unruly hair, check, lack of eloquence, check. He still looked hesitant, as if Harry Potter couldn’t possibly have just knocked him to the ground. And yet here they were.

“Ahem, do you mind just getting off of me?” Harry asked awkwardly, right arm starting to go numb under Malfoy’s weight.

“Oh, right, sure.” Pale skin pinking, Malfoy scrambled up to standing, looking down regretfully at his cup of black coffee, which was now puddled across the ground, having been knocked out of his hand when Harry grabbed him.

Reaching blindly, Harry found his glasses, relieved to find that they hadn’t broken, and got to his feet, stomach still hollow as he looked at Malfoy. His one-time enemy who he hadn’t seen in five years. Not since the trials, where he had numbly testified in favour of him and his mother, asking for their freedom while not being able to look them in the eye. All the Malfoys had gotten off with reduced sentences, paying a heavy fine instead of jail time, and last he had heard they had moved to an ancestral estate in France, living quietly and avoiding the press.

But here Malfoy was, standing a few feet away from him, dressed in Muggle clothes, navy scarf and a dark grey peacoat. He was taller than Harry remembered him and he had grown into his sharp edges, the lines of his jaw and nose now aristocratic rather than pointy.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at Harry, and he brushed snow off of his coat self-consciously.

“What are you doing here?”

Their voices clashed, despite saying the same words.

“Well, I was _attempting_ to get a cup of coffee,” Malfoy said coldly, nodding towards the spilled beverage.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Is that something you’ve done before? Or is it just walking that’s hard for you?”

Harry felt a familiar tightening in his gut at Malfoy’s words, feeling as though he were sixteen again, trading insults with him in the hallways of Hogwarts. “Well you have trouble simply standing in one place, so I wouldn’t sound so disdainful if I were you.”

“Standing in one place usually doesn’t involve fending off morons who don’t know how gravity works,” he shot back, rolling his eyes.

“Didn’t know you knew about Muggle things like gravity, Malfoy,” Harry taunted, twangs of anger thrumming inside of him. He felt strangely breathless and almost felt like smiling as he took in Malfoy’s familiar smirk. It had been awhile since he’d had a good fight with someone. He got pissed at the crowds that followed him, but engaging with them never helped. The last time he’d had an actual argument with someone had been the night he and Ginny had broken up, but that had ended with both of them in tears and agreeing it was for the best, no winners, only losers. It didn’t feel like this, with hot energy firing through his veins as he waited to parry each response, having no qualms about throwing Malfoy’s words back in his face.

“Muggles don’t _own_ gravity, Potter. Merlin, fame really does make people stupider.”

“Only stupid people would choose to be famous,” Harry said soberly, the high from the argument dissipating.

Malfoy laughed. “It’s like I don’t even have to speak. You just take yourself down.”

“I could say the same about you,” Harry said coldly, hand near his pocket ready to grab his wand if necessary, no matter the bustling market of Muggles around them. “Following along at your parents’ heels, lapping up whatever they said, causing your own demise with no one to blame but yourself.”

Malfoy paled, white as the snow on the ground. “Well, as much as I’d love to stay and chat,” he sneered. “I’ve got to go meet someone, so why don’t you go off and fuck yourself, Potter?” He spun on his heel, stalking away into the market crowd.

Harry watched as his platinum head bobbed out of sight, feeling rather drained, like he had just come out of a Triwizard challenge. He slumped against the coffee stall, groaning. “God, I need a drink.”

“Our peppermint mochas are excellent,” the barista suggested cautiously, having watched the fight go down with wide eyes.

Harry shook his head. “Thank you, but no. I meant something stronger.”

“Oh, well if you like, I think someone’s spiked the eggnog,” the barista said meaningfully, holding up a bottle of brandy.

“God, yes,” Harry said emphatically, digging out a handful of bills and exchanging them for the warm cup.

The barista smiled sympathetically. “Good luck. Have a good day.”

“Thanks, you too. And sorry about him. He’s a complete git with not much to be done about it.”

Harry stepped away from the stall, weaving his way out of the crowd and taking a large sip of the spiked eggnog, which warmed him to his core, burning away any chills from lying in the snow. And from Malfoy.

Good Godric. Of all the places in the world he could have gone, he ended up in the same small village as Draco Malfoy. Fuck. What a way to start a vacation.

Harry shook it off. Malfoy didn’t get to ruin his holiday for him. He had come too far to be fazed by a five minute run-in that was unlikely to ever repeat itself.

Taking another sip of the creamy eggnog, Harry started out towards the house where he was staying, where he would relax, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter today, but such is the way the Christmas cookie crumbles!   
> I don't usually write Harry and Draco out of Hogwarts and in their early twenties, so this is a fun experience for me, imagining them a bit more grown-up with some time between their last interaction! Hope it reads okay!  
> As always, kudos and/or comments bring me happiness akin to singing "Hamilton" with friends.


	4. I wish I had a river I could skate away on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #4:
> 
> "There has to be a magical way to shovel snow!"

The address Harry had been given was located a little ways outside of Painswick, ten minutes down a narrow paved road. After his incident earlier, he was careful to watch out for patches of ice lurking on the ground, his back already starting to ache from the impact.

The sun was lowering close to the intersection of the horizon when Harry reached the house. The rosebushes from the picture were skeletal twigs now, lines of ice crawling along the stalks, but the house looked just as charming as it had in the summer photograph, now blanketed in a soft layer of snow.

The front walkway that led up to the door was half cleared, the shovel used to do the job abandoned by the doorstep. Harry began to make his way towards the house, trudging through the snow covering the first portion of the walkway, glad to shake it off of his boots when he reached the bare stone.

Just as he was approaching the stoop, the door was flung open by . . . Malfoy? Closely followed by a house elf dressed in a long flannel shirt.

“There has to be a magical way to shovel snow!” Malfoy said impatiently, frowning at the plastic implement. “Think, O’Leary. I’m sure between the two of us we can come up with something. I have a renter coming you know and I don’t think they’d fancy being ankle-high in snow the first time they go out of . . . Potter?”

Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, much like earlier when he had first run into the blond young man. There had to be some mistake. He couldn’t be staying . . . Malfoy couldn’t be . . . shit.

“This wouldn’t happen to be 9544 Magnolia, would it?” Harry asked, hoping to Merlin that it wasn’t.

Malfoy pulled out his wand wearily, gesturing for the house elf to move back behind him. “Yes, it is. This is my family’s vacation house. Are you stalking me, Potter? Pulling a sixth year again because you think I’m up to no good?”

Harry honestly would have preferred that option, standing there staring at Malfoy who was somehow, impossibly, the owner of the room he was renting.

For a brief second, he contemplated Apparating back to his London flat and forgetting about the whole thing. Being followed around and harassed everywhere he went wasn’t really that terrible after all. Not compared to staying with . . . with _him_. But then Harry thought about Diagon Alley. And all the balls and parties he would be expected to attend if it got out he was back, and then he would have pissed off the entire Ministry for nothing.

Oh, hang it all.

“I’m your renter, Malfoy,” Harry admitted. “Mr. Hank Porter?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened with surprise and he lowered his wand to his side. He looked like he wanted to say something biting, but he appeared to swallow it back with obvious pain and managed through gritted teeth, “I was expecting you to Floo in.”

Harry shifted awkwardly. “I took a bus instead.”

“Ah.” The syllable was left hanging in the air between them, as they both avoided eye contact to deal with their individual shock.

“O’Leary is pleased to meet you, Mr. Porter, sir,” the house elf said, breaking the silence and holding a gnarled hand out.

Harry shook the creature’s hand, glad to have something else to focus on. “It’s actually Potter. Nice to meet you as well, O’Leary.” The elf certainly looked to be in better condition than Dobby was when Harry had first met him. His flannel was clean and his bulbous eyes eager and bright, not seeming to hold any grudge against Malfoy.

As if knowing what he was thinking, Malfoy burst out, “I pay him, alright? Don’t get your noble sensibilities in a bunch.”

“O’Leary very much enjoys his work with Mr. Malfoy,” the elf added sincerely, looking over at his employer kindly.

Harry blushed. “Of course. I’m sure you do.”

Malfoy studied him for a moment, an unidentifiable look in his eyes. “I suppose we should go in so I can show you to your room.”

“Right. Sounds good.” Harry followed Malfoy and O’Leary into the house, carefully brushing the snow off of his boots.

Inside was a small foyer, with a coat rack and a mat for shoes. After Harry grabbed out his wand and Hermine’s bottomless bag from his pocket, O’Leary took his coat and boots, setting them down before scuttling away into what Harry guessed was the living room, walls hidden by mahogany bookshelves and a great stone fire place roaring with warmth. There also was a grand piano standing in the corner, the firelight glancing off of its shiny veneer, stacks of what appeared to be sheet music piled on the bench.

A quiet cough drew Harry’s attention back to Malfoy, who motioned to the polished staircase on the other side of the entryway. “If you’ll just follow me to your room.”

His icy politeness itched at Harry as he walked behind him up the stairs. It felt horribly disconcerting, given their history. Malfoy had been many things towards Harry, but polite was never one of them.

“I hope you’ll find it to your satisfaction,” Malfoy said stiffly as he opened the first door on his left, a hallway with three other doors stretching past it.

Harry barely glanced at the room, setting down the bottomless back on the top of a chest of drawers. “Looks good.”

Malfoy continued in that strange, off-putting monotone, “Bathroom is just across the hall, meals are whenever you like them, just go into the kitchen and ask O’Leary. You are welcome to go anywhere in the house except for my room and do not touch the piano. If there’s anything you need, ask either me or O’Leary.”

And with that, he shut the door abruptly behind him, leaving Harry alone in the room. It was comfortable enough, with a large bed placed against the wall opposite the chest of drawers and a small desk pushed underneath a casement window looking out at the front yard over top of the dead rosebushes below.

A wave of exhaustion suddenly sweeping over him, Harry collapsed back onto the bed, staring up at the whitewashed ceiling. There was no way his vacation was going to be any kind of peaceful now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. Harry and Draco stuck in a house together for the foreseeable future. I wonder what will happen. ;)
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are appreciated as much as Andy Samberg's glasses.


	5. A White Christmas, Just Like the Ones I Used to Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #5
> 
> Christmas is the perfect time to be cold and share clothing. Character A either lends B something, or they both end up sharing one item.

Harry woke up with a crick in his neck and a red imprint on his face from his glasses. He had fallen asleep moments after he had tumbled into bed yesterday, exhausted from the events of the day, and now his mouth was uncomfortably dry.

It was dark outside, with only a sliver of moon shining through the window. He cast a Tempus charm and groaned. It was six a.m.

He was still dressed in his clothes from the day before, his jeans and jumper creased and warm from sleep, and he examined his glasses, checking to make sure he hadn’t broken them while asleep.

Stomach gurgling from hunger, having barely eaten the day before, Harry made his way downstairs as quietly as he could, hoping he wouldn’t wake O’Leary, who was sure to insist on making him breakfast even if he was still half asleep and Harry was more than capable of toasting a piece of bread himself.

Tiptoeing through the living room that he had caught a glimpse of the day before, Harry found himself in a large, but cozy kitchen. However, it was not as empty as he had expected.

Malfoy was seated at the kitchen island, bent over a mug and a plate of eggs, in a flannel pair of pajama bottoms and an oversized green jumper. He looked up at the creak of Harry’s footsteps and Harry noticed that dark circles smudged the pale skin under his eyes.

Malfoy stood up, expression blank. “You’re up early.”

“I know. I just fell asleep quite early last night and didn’t get a chance to have supper, so I thought I’d make myself some breakfast. I’d hoped not to wake anyone up but . . .” Harry gestured vaguely towards Malfoy.

“It’s fine,” Malfoy said in that strange, deliberately polite voice that Harry hated. “I can make you some eggs if you’d like and there’s coffee in the pot.”

Set on edge, Harry nonetheless nodded, taking a mug from a stack on the counter. “Sure. That would be great.”

Harry sat down at the island with his cup of coffee, watching as Malfoy cracked two eggs expertly into a pan. The entire scene felt extremely bizarre to Harry, sitting in a kitchen at six a.m. while his long-time nemesis cooked him eggs.

“Is scrambled fine?” Malfoy asked, no intonation to his words.

Harry clenched his jaw, knee bouncing slightly against the island. “Fine.”

The kitchen was almost completely silent, aside from the sizzling of the pan as Malfoy began to whisk the eggs. The coffee was bitter and rich in Harry’s mouth.

In that same blank voice, Malfoy started to say, “How well done—” but Harry snapped, his unnatural politeness grating against his nerves.

“You know you don’t have to pretend you don’t hate me just because I’m renting from you,” he said hotly. Malfoy froze, hand falling down to his side. “I’m perfectly aware that you’d rather be anywhere else in the world than be stuck here with me.”

Malfoy turned, a familiar burning in his eyes that instantly made Harry feel more at ease. He knew how to deal with Malfoy’s anger. It was something he had known for years and he would much rather face it head on than have him cover it up with falsely polite words and pleasantries.

“I don’t know where you’d get that impression, Potter,” he spat. “It’s not like you tried to kill me or anything.”

“So then why pretend any differently? The money’s already payed in full, although I don’t even see why you of all people would need it in the first place—”

“Oh, you don’t, do you?” Malfoy laughed, a jagged, disbelieving sound. “You don’t remember the trial where my family was forced to literally pay for our crimes?”

Harry ducked his head, awkwardly running a hand through his hair. “Well, yeah, but that was nothing compared to what your family has—”

“No,” Malfoy said sharply. “It was _everything_ my family had. Why do you think I’m out here in the middle of fucking nowhere trying to make a pittance from renting out part of a shitty vacation house?”

Harry fumbled. “I thought- I just thought—”

“What? You thought what, Potter?” Malfoy demanded, leaning over the counter towards him. “You thought that we’d be fine, while you just got to waltz off to enjoy the rest of your life without worrying about whether you could make enough to survive in a world where no one would hire you because you picked the losing side.”

“I didn’t know,” Harry said simply, meeting Malfoy’s eyes.

“Why would you?” Malfoy sneered, colour rising in his pale skin. “You’re the saviour of the entire world. Everywhere you go you’re hailed as a hero. You don’t even have to ask to have anything you want.”

“That’s not true,” Harry said quietly, an ember of anger flaring inside of him.

Malfoy snorted. “If I’m not allowed to fake politeness, you’re not allowed to lie, Potter. It’s not an attractive look on you.” And with that, he strode out of the kitchen, leaving Harry to stare at a burning pan of scrambled eggs.

***

The day dawned bright and beautiful, Harry watching the sun come up from his bedroom window. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done that, the grimy buildings in London blocking the view of the horizon from his flat.

He didn’t see Malfoy all day, the blond evidently avoiding him after their earlier spat in the kitchen, which was fine with Harry. He had come there for peace after all.

And, house’s owner aside, there was no better place to find it than 9544 Magnolia. Harry spent the morning reading on one of the overstuffed sofas in the living room, unable to remember the last time he had sat down and read a book simply for pleasure.

O’Leary made him a delicious tomato soup for lunch, the deep crimson colour wonderfully festive, and Harry carefully balanced the bowl on his lap while he finished his book, stretched out contentedly as the afternoon sun sprawled across him on the sofa.

Setting the book down on the coffee table beside his empty bowl, Harry yawned, the warmth of the sun making him sleepy. He was just considering heading upstairs for a nap, when he looked out the window. The yard of the house continued on into a field edged with forest, the whole thing a great, white expanse of snow, sparkling crisp and unmarred in the afternoon sun. The weather was too beautiful to pass up on.

Shrugging into his coat and stepping into his boots, Harry looked out the pane of glass set beside the front door, frowning as he saw the still half-cleared walkway at the front of the house.

“O’Leary!” He called, the house elf appearing a moment later.

“Was the soup to Mr. Porter’s liking?” He asked hopefully.

“It’s Potter,” Harry corrected gently. “And yes, it was delicious. I was just wondering if I could shovel the rest of the walkway for you.”

The house elf looked surprise. “Oh, no, O’Leary couldn’t allow Mr. Porter to do his work. You are our guest.”

Giving up on his name, Harry insisted, “I really would like to. I was planning on going outside anyway, so I might as well help out a bit too.”

O’Leary seemed touched. “Well, if Mr. Porter would really like to, O’Leary would very much appreciate that, yes he would.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Harry smiled, tugging up the zipper on his coat, before opening the door and stepping outside. And promptly coming back in again.

“Ah, O’Leary, it’s, ah, rather cold out there,” Harry managed through teeth that were already chattering just from the brief moment in the frigid air. “Is there by any chance a hat and some gloves I could use? I wasn’t expecting it to be the temperature out here to be so low.”

“Of course! Mr. Porter is welcome to help himself to anything in the closet there,” O’Leary said, pointing towards the shuttered doors on the side of the foyer opposite to the coat stand.

Chattering his gratitude, Harry opened the closet to see an organizer with drawers of carefully folded scarves, hats, and gloves, all belonging to Malfoy, as was evident from the spicy scent of his cologne that he had been using for as long as Harry could remember. For years, whenever he smelled cinnamon, he heard his voice and felt the energetic anger of their fights sparking through him.

Choosing a cozy red toque and a pair of thick black gloves, Harry once again stepped outside, his new knitted armor protecting him against the cold.

Harry picked up the shovel, yanking it hard to break the ice that had crept over it during the night and froze it to the ground, leaving veins of frost across the handle. He walked down the path, stopping where the snow started and scooping at it, throwing it off to the side in a practiced motion. Before Hogwarts, when he had lived with the Dursleys during the winter, he would always have to shovel their walk and driveway so that Uncle Vernon could get to his car in the morning for work. Sometimes Harry would be out there at five in the morning, pushing away the effects of an overnight blizzard, but strangely enough, that was one of the few chores he had actually enjoyed. He had liked the quietness of the task, the repetitive motions of digging the shovel under the heavy compressed layer of snow and tossing it to the side, forming natural walls along the edges of the pavement as he went along.

He was reminded of this as he continued with his task, lifting clumps of snow with a shovel that now he was considerably taller than, which was a nice change.

As he fell into a steady rhythm – scoop, toss, scoop, toss – he grew warm from the exercise and the afternoon sun beating down on his back. Sticking the shovel into one of the snow banks he had built, he walked back to the house.

Careful to knock the caked snow off of his boots before entering, Harry stepped into the foyer, about to take off the no longer needed hat and gloves, when he locked eyes with Malfoy, who had just come down the stairs.

His eyes flickered over Harry, noting the borrowed garments he was wearing.

“Sorry, it was freezing out and O’Leary said it was alright if I wore . . . but I should have asked— I was just going to shovel snow . . . your snow, actually, not random snow, walkway snow. So people can . . . you know . . . walk on it,” Harry finished lamely, pulling off the hat and gloves and holding them awkwardly, wondering if he should hand them to Malfoy or simply close his eyes and wait for death.

But before he could decide, Malfoy simply nodded. A single movement of his chin, and then he was gone, disappearing into the living room without a word.

Gapping and feeling as though he had just narrowly escaped death, Harry slumped back against the wall. Merlin, Draco Malfoy confused him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I ended up tweaking the prompt a little bit, because both of these two hopeless boys are still too antagonistic to voluntarily share clothing, but the mechanics are still roughly the same!
> 
> Just by reading the snow shoveling scene, you can tell I'm Canadian, although I've lived in too many houses with long driveways to enjoy it the way Harry does. A bit of shoveling, either with music or someone to talk to or at night with your thoughts, that's nice, but hours of back-breaking work where your nose, ears, and toes are cold, but the rest of you is warm? No thank you! 
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are appreciated as much as driving by the sea with windows down and the music loud!


	6. Silent Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #6
> 
> "Person A gets really soft and motherly when a bunch of kids come caroling, much to the astonishment of Person B."

Muscles pleasantly sore from shoveling the walkway, Harry spent the rest of the afternoon reading up in his room, slowly defrosting from the outdoor chill under a pile of blankets, the reason only partially being that he was hiding from Malfoy after the awkward incident with the hat and gloves. Well, maybe more than partially.

As the sun dipped down below the horizon, streaking the sky with swathes of brilliant colours, Harry began to think about dinner, determined not to miss it like he had the day before.

“O’Leary!” He called out, summoning the house elf with a ‘pop!’.

“Mr. Porter needs something?” The elf asked cheerily, an apron tied over his flannel shirt.

“Yes, I was just wondering about dinner.”

The elf smiled. “What would Mr. Porter like?”

“Whatever’s easiest for you.”

O’Leary looked thoughtful. “Well, O’Leary is already making dinner for Mr. Malfoy, so if Mr. Porter would like, he could come down for that.”

Torn between wanting to continue to avoid Malfoy and not wanting to make more trouble for the elf, Harry finally sighed. “Sure. That sounds great.” It wasn’t like he could avoid Malfoy for the entire trip anyway. It was _his_ house.

“Wonderful!” O’Leary beamed. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

“Thank you, O’Leary!” Harry called after him as the elf disappeared. He slumped back against the headboard of the bed. Dinner with Draco Malfoy.

Scrambling out from underneath his many layers of blankets, Harry grabbed a fresh jumper out of Hermione’s bag, determined to give Malfoy as few things to criticize as possible. He even attempted to run a comb through his unruly hair, giving up when a tooth broke off.

Muscles tense, Harry walked down the stairs and over into the kitchen, where Malfoy was already seated at the dining table.

“Potter,” he said, surprised, half getting up from his seat.

“O’Leary said it would be easiest for him if we ate at the same time,” Harry blurted out in explanation, hand tightening on the back of the chair opposite from the blond young man.

Malfoy paused, examining him for a moment, before sitting back down again. “That’s kind of you.”

Unsure if it was meant to be a jab or an honest compliment, Harry simply nodding, sinking into his own chair and keeping his eyes fixed on the table in front of him, noting the swirls and scuffs in the wood.

The silence was palpable, hanging uncomfortably in the air. Harry snatched quick glances across the table at Malfoy, still not quite used to seeing him in Muggle clothes instead of a Hogwarts uniform. His hair was shorter too, closer to the length it had been in sixth year rather than when they had first met. Little details Harry had known by heart after seeing him every day for six years, suddenly strange and unfamiliar with the change of half a decade.

“Dinner will be ready soon!” O’Leary announced, appearing beside Malfoy.

Both he and Harry clung to this welcome interruption. “Oh, wonderful,” “Thank you so much, O’Leary,” “I really appreciate it,” “Just brilliant.”

The house elf grinned, blushing slightly from the praise. “It’s Mr. Malfoy’s favourite: apple pie.”

Harry raised a bemused eyebrow. “Dessert for dinner?”

The elf nodded vigorously. “But of course!”

“You know me so well, O’Leary,” Malfoy said, smiling down at the elf so genuinely that Harry could barely believe his eyes.

“O’Leary better go check on it!”

Without the elf to carry the conversation, they fall back into silence, avoiding eye contact to not make the situation any more awkward than it already was.

“So,” Harry finally ventured, unable to endure the quiet any longer. “Do they play Quidditch over in France?”

Malfoy glanced over at him, caught off guard. “Well, uh, yes, yes they do,” he managed. “They have a national league, although their international team isn’t very good.”

Harry nodded, unsure how to respond. “Did you get a chance to play?”

“What?”

“In France. Did you get a chance to play any Quidditch?” Harry explained, fiddling with the stem of the fork at his place setting.

“Oh.” Malfoy shook his head. “No, not really.”

The silence stretched out again.

“I haven’t actually played since school,” Malfoy admitted, meeting Harry’s eyes straight on for the first time since he had sat down.

“That’s too bad,” Harry said lamely, both of them skirting around the unsaid thought that was ricocheting off the walls; that Malfoy had been too busy working for Voldemort after school to play Quidditch. “Ron and some of his buddies at the Auror Academy do pick-up matches every so often, so I’ve joined in with some of those, but that’s about it.”

“Do you wipe the floor with Weasley and his friends?” A slight smirk was on Malfoy’s face, but it wasn’t vindictive, instead closer to knowing, as if he and Harry were in on a joke. Which, Harry supposed, they were.

“Every time,” he admitted sheepishly, running a hand through his hair.

Malfoy looked satisfied. “Thought so.”

They fell into silence again, but this time it rung less harshly in Harry’s ears. The air in the room felt lighter, the tension thinned with their casual remarks that were about nothing and everything.

Then the doorbell suddenly rung, echoing through the walls of the house.

Frowning, Malfoy stood up, going to see who was at the door. Harry trailed behind him, curious to see who his visitor could be.

He entered the foyer as Malfoy opened the door, to reveal a group of five children grinning at them, bundled in coats, scarves, and hats, but still rosy-cheeked from the cold.

As soon as the door opened, one of them shouted, “One, two, three!” and they broke into an up-tempo version of ‘Silent Night’, rushing through some of the verses in their excitement.

Harry had always loved the idea of carolers, however Mr. Dursley thought anyone who walked around singing for strangers was a bit wrong in the head, so he insisted no one answer the door whenever they came around 4 Privet Drive, not wanting to encouraging their abnormal behaviour. But Harry had always tried to sneak away to a window, so he could watch as the merry group of people continued their way down the street, stopping at houses and bringing a bit of the holiday spirit to folks in their homes.

Now he stood watching as the children finished their song, which had been spirited if not particularly in tune, and burst into applause. To his great surprise, Malfoy joined him, clapping and smiling at the bowing kids.

“That was absolutely lovely,” Malfoy said warmly, not a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “If you just wait one moment, I have a treat for you.”

The children looked at each other excitedly, some now jumping up and down for warmth, as Malfoy turned to Harry. “Potter, go ask O’Leary for some of those cookies he made earlier. The ones in the shapes of snowflakes. I think the children would like them.”

Harry’s lips twitched. He wanted so desperately to laugh at this unexpected side of Malfoy, but he held it in, simply nodding since he didn’t trust himself to speak.

When he returned with the cookies, Malfoy handed them out to the children, who responded with a chorus of “Thank you!”

“Have a good evening!” He called after them, before shutting the door.

Unable to hold it in any longer, Harry snorted. “I never thought of you as the Christmas type.”

Malfoy sniffed, heading back to his seat at the table. “I am not, however I can appreciate a well-done performance, no matter what unnecessary holiday it is attached to.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call that a ‘well-done performance’,” Harry said. “Charming maybe, but not ‘well-done’.”

“Oh, sit down and eat your dinner, Potter.”

***

Later that night, Harry was getting ready for bed, exhausted from his early wake up at six a.m. He was just about to crawl under his covers, when he heard a faint sound from downstairs. Cracking open the door and going out into the hallway, he could now better hear that it was the song the carolers had been singing, ‘Silent Night’, being played on the piano. It was slower now, each note placed with steady intention. It was sad as well, peaceful, but heart-breaking at the same time.

It was beautiful.

Harry quietly sat down at the top of the stairs, leaning his head against the bannister as he listened to the gentle melody swirling through the air. He could now see Malfoy, sitting on the piano bench, eyes closed, hands glancing the keys gently. He played all four verses of the song, nodding slowly along with the bars, letting the final note hang in the air as he paused, hands motionless on the pale keys as he seemed to savour the memory of the song hanging in the air.

Harry was completely mesmerized.

“I know you’re there, Potter,” Malfoy called out softly, smirking as he looked up and met Harry’s eyes.

Blushing slightly at being caught, Harry made his way down the stairs, sitting on a sofa by the dying embers in the fire place. “I didn’t know you played piano,” he said quietly. He had always felt as though he had Draco Malfoy figured out. He knew exactly who he was, heart, mind, and soul. But after watching Malfoy play, he wasn’t sure he did anymore. Maybe he never had.

Malfoy nodded, still tracing his fingers over the ivory keys in silent mime of a song. “It was part of my childhood education as the heir of a prominent society family. But I didn’t really start to enjoy it until . . . well . . . you know. It became a comfort when I was stuck in France with my world falling down around me and not much hope lying in the future.”

Harry thought about Malfoy sitting at a piano, holding on to music while his family had no money and no way to get it. “I’m sorry. About your family,” Harry whispered, looking at Malfoy, this boy who he had known for most of his life, while maybe never really knowing him at all.

He glanced up from the piano, surprised by Harry’s apology, before focusing on the keys again, shrugging. “I’m sorry too. About the whole mess that got us there. The thing you said about me just following my parents blindly, you were right. I love them, but I now know I don’t want to _be_ them. I just wish I’d realized that sooner.” He smiled bitterly, crashing out a sudden roaring chord, as if it could explain his feelings better than he could.

The two boys sat there in dark, each struggling with their pasts and how they were intertwined. How five years had changed their lives so immensely. How neither of them had any idea what to expect or want from the future.

“Do you know ‘River’?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded, filling the room with music so there wouldn’t be any room for their thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how angsty this has been so far! It definitely wasn't supposed to be, but now that it's all out in the open, the rest should be far fluffier, I promise!
> 
> I absolutely love the carol 'Silent Night' and piano renditions of it are beautiful, so I highly encourage you all to look one up and listen to it. This is the one I was listening to while writing and it's gorgeous: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MhC90ReY49I&list=LL&index=2
> 
> As always, kudos and/or comments make me as happy as when I'm eating pumpkin pie!


	7. Let It Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #7
> 
> "Game night while it's blustery outside."

Harry had wanted to spend the next day exploring Painswick a bit more to scope out good stores for Christmas shopping, however when he woke up, snow was falling so thickly that he knew he would have to postpone his reconnaissance for another day.

Instead retreating to a sofa in the living room once again, Harry resigned himself to spending the day much the same as the one before.

However, an unexpected wrench got thrown in that expectation, as Malfoy came into the room, also holding a book, and cautiously seating himself on the other couch across from the one Harry was frequenting.

Unsure of how to respond to this movement, Harry decided to pretend he wasn’t there, focusing so hard on the page of his book that the letters became meaningless black squiggles. Suppressing a sigh, Harry wiped the dust motes off of his glasses and tried to get back into the book.

But it was impossible to ignore Malfoy. Harry kept stealing glances at the blond young man from behind his book, noting the small furrow on his brow as he squinted at the pages and the unconscious tapping of his feet against the arm of the sofa. He was tall enough that he had to bend his knees to stretch out across the furniture, pillow propped behind his back, and the sight was so novel that Harry couldn’t quite stop himself from continuing to snatch looks. There was something strangely endearing about watching his former nemesis curled up in a jumper reading a book. It was so non-threatening. Domestic even.

Malfoy muttered something and Harry quickly turned his head, ready to deny ever looking at him.

“Merlin, you foolish, foolish bloke!” Malfoy said loudly, shaking his head and turning the page. Harry glanced over in surprise.

“Excuse me?”

Malfoy waved an impatient hand, eyes still glued to his book. “For once, not you. The main character’s being an absolutely _idiot_.”

“Oh.” Harry definitely hadn’t been expecting that. “I see.”

“Tavish, he clearly likes you, you oblivious tosser!” Malfoy ranted at the page, rolling his eyes. “Honestly! A blind mandrake could see it!”

Completely giving up any remaining pretense that he was reading, Harry watched with amusement as Malfoy continued to rail at the characters, telling them in great detail exactly what mistakes they were making, as if they were sentient beings asking for his advice.

“You’re so stupid about each other,” he said disdainfully. “If I were your best mates, I would lock you two into a room until you figured things out! For your own good!”

The afternoon passed quickly, Harry kept abreast of every mishap, romantic or otherwise, that the characters in Malfoy’s book came across, thoroughly entertained by the Slytherin’s unconscious commentary.

Malfoy finally finished the novel as the sun began to set, having been oddly silent for the last ten minutes.

“Did Tavish and Mattias get together in the end?” Harry asked casually, fighting to hold back the smile that so desperately wanted to slip over his face.

Malfoy looked startled. “What?”

“In your book.” Harry nodded towards the hardcover he had just set down on the coffee table.

Malfoy peered at him suspiciously. “How do you know about the characters in my book?”

Barely keeping a straight face, Harry said, “Well, because you’ve been telling me about them for the past three hours.”

“What are you talking about, Potter?” Malfoy demanded crossly, swinging his long legs off of the sofa.

“You talk when you read,” Harry said simply, enjoying the pink that began to flush across the other boy’s face.

“I absolutely do not,” he said huffily. “But to answer your question, yes, they did.”

Harry smirked, turning his head towards the window. “There. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He heard Malfoy sigh in exasperation. Outside, the snow was still pelting down, large flakes sticking to the window pane, nearly obscuring Harry’s view of the yard entirely. Blustering wind gusts buffeted the snow in heavy white sheets down towards the ground, the normally soft beauty of a snow fall changed to violent natural attacks.

“Do you have any games?” Harry asked abruptly, turning back towards Malfoy, who arched an eyebrow. “Chess? Exploding Snap? Maybe some Muggle board game?”

“Why?” He asked curiously, leaning back against the sofa.

Harry shrugged. “When it used to storm at school, Ron, Hermione, and I would get together and play board games until lights out to take our minds off of it. The whole Gryffindor common room would join in sometimes and it became sort of a tradition.”

“We never really did stuff like that in my common room,” Malfoy said thoughtfully. “Slytherins aren’t exactly the paling around house. Besides, can you imagine how competitive we’d all get?”

“There would be bloodshed,” Harry agreed.

“I’m willing to give it a try,” Malfoy said with a smirk. “But only because it’s been far too long since I’ve beat you at anything.”

“Well, if I recall correctly, I believe Gryffindor won the last Quidditch match we both played,” Harry challenged, excitement growing at the thought of getting to best Malfoy again.

“Well, if _I_ recall correctly, I believe you frequently got smacked around on the Quidditch pitch, suffering many blows to the head, and therefore are not a reliable source for this so called ‘victory’.” Malfoy stood up, holding up a hand before Harry could argue back. “Just go sit at the kitchen table, Potter. I think there’s a pack of Exploding Snap cards around here somewhere.”

Malfoy eventually found the cards on one of the book shelves, shuffling them expertly as he walked over to the table where Harry was sitting.

“Oy! O’Leary!” Malfoy called, dealing out the slightly singed cards. “Do you want to play?”

The elf appeared beside the table, grinning. “O’Leary loves Exploding Snap!” He clambered up into a chair, standing so he could reach the cards.

“Everyone ready?” Harry asked, wand pointed towards his stack of cards.

“Ready to claim victory? Always,” Malfoy smirked.

O’Leary chortled. “Not so presumptuous, Mr. Malfoy. O’Leary’s seen a few games in his time.”

“Go!”

The air was immediately filled the scent of smoke and the sound of shouts, as the players rushed to claim pairs of cards, the paper exploding with a resounding ‘bang!’ every time they failed to enunciate properly or tap it within the amount of time. Harry stared at the cards with a steady determination, aching to beat Malfoy, who was leaning over the table so far that his eyebrows were nearly burnt off several times.

The final cards turned face up, nearly instantaneously going up in smoke. Harry slumped back in his chair, heart thudding with the exhilaration.

“How many cards?” He asked, looking around at Malfoy and O’Leary. “I’ve got thirty.”

“Damn! I’ve got thirty as well.” Malfoy sighed, tossing his cards onto the table.

The elf crowed suddenly, waving his stack in the air. “O’Leary’s got thirty-eight! Woo-hoo!”

Harry caught Malfoy’s eye and they shared a rueful look, before going to congratulate the elf, who was grinning widely, very pleased with his victory.

“Cookies!” He announced, disappearing with a ‘pop’.

Harry sat, listening to the wind as it shook against the walls of the house.

“Rematch to decide second?” Malfoy suggested in a casually deceptive tone, hand already reaching towards his wand.

Harry grinned. “You’re on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: Draco ranting at the characters while reading is very much based on me. ;) 
> 
> I love some cozy domesticity, and I hope you all do too! See, I told you fluff was coming!
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are as appreciated as men's shirts and short skirts. :)


	8. I don't want a lot for Christmas. There is just one thing I need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #8
> 
> "Harry and Draco have a snowball fight. One of them fakes an injury to get the other's attention."

Harry stared out the window gloomily. Even though it had stopped storming the night before and the sun was out in full force today, a foot-and-a-half-deep layer of snow was still covering the road, making it impossible to get to town.

“Why so glum, Potter?” Malfoy smirked, coming over to stand beside him. “You look like Gryffindor just lost the House cup.”

Harry sighed, too down to come up with a retort. “It’s the snow. It’s too deep for me to get into Painswick again and I need to do my Christmas shopping.”

Malfoy snorted in disbelief. “It’s a little more than a week until Christmas and you still haven’t done your shopping? Merlin, it really is a good thing you had Granger in school or the Boy Who Lived would have been The Boy Who Procrastinated Too Much To Pass His Classes.”

“Well, I was planning to do my shopping in Diagon Alley,” Harry responded tersely, folding his arms defensively across his chest. “But then people started recognizing me and following me everywhere, so I had to leave.”

“Oh yes, poor Potter, with all his fans and accolades—”

“Malfoy, please don’t—”

“Harry Potter, marry me forever!”

“You don’t understand—”

“I’ll pay you one million galleons for a piece of your hair!”

“Malfoy, you will just fucking shut up!”

Malfoy fell silent, staring at Harry.

He swallowed, unclenching his fists from where they had tightened at his sides. “I’m sorry. I just . . . it’s a lot. Not being able to go anywhere without people screaming and following me. I’m too afraid to apply for a job anywhere because I’ll never know whether I got it because they thought I was qualified or because I killed a guy without a nose. My entire life is picked apart on the front page every single day, which means I’m too afraid to date anyone because I don’t want to drag them into it. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t get after me about this one thing. Not when I came out here to escape thinking about it.”

Harry risked a glance over at Malfoy, who was being uncharacteristically quiet, staring at the floor in front of him.

“Alright,” he finally said, meeting Harry’s eyes steadily. “I won’t bring it up again.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you.”

“Now, you did say that you came out here to escape thinking about it,” Malfoy said, a glint in his grey eyes. “So how about we do something to take your mind off of it: another competition, so that I can reclaim my title as eternal victor after your fluke Exploding Snap tie-breaker win last night.”

“What did you have in mind?” Harry asked slowly, eager for a distraction, which had the bonus of both taking his mind off of his life and getting another chance to beat Draco Malfoy.

“Well,” Malfoy began to wander across the room with faux nonchalance. “It seems like a wasted opportunity not to take advantage of all this snow. I propose that we have a snowball fight. No magic, just pure athletic ability.”

“Are you sure you want to do this, Malfoy? You really want to give me the chance to destroy you twice in twenty-four hours,” Harry challenged, walking right up to the blond young man and staring at him right in the eye, which was a bit difficult, considering he had a few, horribly annoying inches on Harry.

Malfoy peered down his nose, shifting so he was standing a bit taller, as if he knew exactly what Harry was thinking. “It’s on, Potter. Side yard, five minutes.” And with that, he stalked away towards the front door.

“Hold on one sec, before we get all competitive, umm, can I borrow your hat and gloves again?” He blushed, wishing he had taken up Mrs. Weasley on her offer to knit him some winter clothes last Christmas.

“If you freeze to death, it won’t be a satisfying victory, so sure,” Malfoy grumbled, tossing them towards Harry before tugging on his dark grey peacoat.

Soon they were appropriately armored against the cold, Harry’s hair slipping out statically from under Malfoy’s toque, causing the Slytherin to wrinkle his nose and mutter that _he’d_ rather his ears turn to ice and drop off before ruining his hair in such a careless fashion.

They tramped out into the side yard, Harry taking the side by the road and Malfoy taking the one near the forest, with roughly twenty feet of space between them.

Harry pushed some snow into a low wall to hide behind, before beginning to fashion ammunition, packing the flakes tightly between his gloved hands until he had a pile of perfect snowballs just waiting to be thrown at Malfoy’s hatless perfectly coiffed hair.

“Ready?” He called out across the yard towards the other young man, whose shock of pale hair nearly matched the snow wall he was standing behind.

“You bet your arse!”

Harry tensed, grabbing a snowball. “First one to get hit loses.”

He could see Malfoy grin from across the stretch of snow. “Go!”

Immediately, Harry chucked the snowball in his hand as hard as he could, sending it smashing against Malfoy’s defensive wall. In response, a volley of three or four came careening towards him, forcing him to dive behind cover.

Harry leaned out from the other side, trying to throw one over Malfoy’s wall, but was unable to get enough momentum behind it, as it broke into pellets in the middle of the battle ground.

“Nice try, Potter!” Malfoy shouted, sending some well-aimed snowballs through the air that Harry was just able to duck out of the way of.

The battle continued, insults and snowballs tossed back and forth across the yard. Harry began to run out of ammunition, scrambling for ill-packed handfuls of snow that fell apart as soon as they went into the air, while Malfoy seemed to have an endless supply of perfectly sculpted ammunition, each one either smashing into Harry’s defense wall or within inches of Harry himself.

This called for desperate measures.

Sending a snowball flying out from one side of his crumbling wall and tucking another one into his palm, Harry stepped out from behind the other side, pretending to stumble, falling to his knee with a howl of false pain.

Malfoy’s barrage paused. “I know you’re faking, Potter!”

But Harry refused to give up the act, moaning again as he crumpled to the ground. This was his best chance.

“Very funny, Potter!”

But Malfoy sounded less sure than before.

Harry smiled to himself, before pitching his voice low and calling out, “Malfoy, please! I promise I’m not! There’s these funny pains shooting through me.”

Footsteps crunched through the snow. “What kind of pains?” Malfoy asked worriedly, crouching beside Harry.

Gotcha.

Harry wanted to crow with victory, but instead he screwed his face tight, grimacing and pressing a hand to his chest. “I don’t know! They just started— ohhh.” He groaned again, pleased to see Malfoy growing even paler than usual.

“What do I do?” He asked frantically, examining Harry with a terrified expression.

It was quite startling for Harry to see his former enemy looking so concerned for him, sending a sliver of guilt shivering through him, but Harry ignored it and pressed on, letting out another groan, and letting his eyes flutter almost completely shut, as he stilled, holding his breath and waiting.

“The fuck you’re dying on me, Potter,” Malfoy growled, Harry watching through slitted eyelids as he leaned forward, hair falling over his forehead, as Malfoy moved to put a hand on his forehead, although what good that would have done if he was actually unconscious, Harry didn’t know.

But he had more important things to worry about, fingers tightening around the cold snowball melting in his hand, as Malfoy moved closer . . . closer . . .

Smack!

Harry brought his hand up, splattering the snow across Malfoy’s face, causing the other boy to scream with surprise, falling back onto the ground as Harry sat up, laughing so hard he almost actually stopped breathing this time.

“You fucking piece of shit!” Malfoy fumed, wiping the snow off to reveal the vengeance in his eyes as he lunged determinedly towards Harry.

Realizing that he had made a terrible mistake and likely just incited his own death, Harry scrambled to his feet and took off running, Malfoy chasing after him, issuing threats in a thundering voice.

Neither of them ended up getting very far though, the thick snow making it very difficult to run for both prey and hunter and after a minute they both collapsed, panting, beside each other on their backs.

“That was pretty clever,” Malfoy admitted, chest heaving as he fought to breathe in the cold winter air. “Very Slytherin of you.”

Grinning, very relieved to still be in possession of his life, Harry turned his head, looking over at him. “I thought you’d be proud. I also thoroughly enjoyed how Hufflepuff you went on me. A moment for the ages. Although what was with that forehead thing? Were you trying to check my temperature?”

Malfoy glanced over at him, flushing. “No,” he insisted stubbornly. “I was trying to prevent the Chosen One from dying in my yard and therefore avoid getting sent to Azkaban for murder.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Right. You bludgeoned me to death with snowballs.”

“Although perhaps it would have been worth it,” Malfoy mused. “Remember, I’m just the one who has to go to prison for life. You’re the poor git that got killed by a snowball. That’s like dying because you were suffocated by kittens. Pathetic.”

Harry smiled at Malfoy. He studied his face for a moment before saying, “In all serious, thank you for trying to save my life.”

“You’re welcome,” Malfoy said quietly, eyes holding something Harry couldn’t quite decipher. And couldn’t quite look away from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a ton of fun to write, so props to larosesombre for the lovely prompt! It also definitely made me want to have a romantic snowball fight with someone, so . . . (sarcastic) thanks larosesombre!   
> (Love you! <3)
> 
> As always, kudos and/or comments make me as happy as coffee does. :)


	9. He's making a list

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #9
> 
> "Rich or not, Draco has a preference for making gifts."

By the time dinner was done that evening, Harry had heard the distinct rumble of a snow plow going past 9544 Magnolia, clearing the street to the town.

“I think I’ll walk into town and get my shopping finished up,” he said, standing up from the kitchen table.

“Have fun,” Malfoy said sarcastically.

“Why don’t you come with me?” Harry suggested, fumbling for a reason for this odd request that had just popped out of him. “Um, well, I, er, oh! I could, I could use a, a guide to direct me to the different shops. Yes.”

“I suppose I could. Wouldn’t want the golden boy getting lost, I supposed.” Malfoy shrugged, but Harry could see that he seemed to brighten despite himself. “I’ll go get my coat.”

The two of them set out on the freshly plowed road, Harry still not entirely sure why he had actually asked the Slytherin to come along. The town wasn’t that big so it wasn’t like he actually could have gotten lost. Maybe he really had hurt himself during that snowball fight. Given himself a slightly concussion or something. Yes, that must be it.

They reached the edge of town, Malfoy leading the way to one of the main streets, where a large portion of the village’s shops were located.

“I assume this will do for Granger’s gift?” He asked with a smirk, nodding towards a small bookstore tucked on the corner of the street.

Harry smiled, enjoying how well known his friend’s penchant for books was. “I imagine it will.”

He pushed his way into the store, a small bell above the door tinkling to announce their arrival. A waft of warm air smelling like pine and mildew washed over them as they entered the shop, which was filled with bookshelves from floor to ceiling.

“So what are we looking for?” Malfoy said quietly, eyeing the labyrinth of shelves in front of them.

“I want to find her a copy of a certain play by a fellow called William Shakespeare,” Harry said, slipping carefully around a shelf to avoid knocking any of the books off, trying to see if there was any sort of apparent organizational system.

Malfoy snorted. “He’s the one who wrote about pixies as if they were royalty instead of immense pains in the arse, right?”

“Erm, yes, that’s the one,” Harry admitted, peering around another shelf before turning back to look at the other side of the row they’d just come down. Unfortunately, he didn’t quite see a heavy stack of dictionaries set on the floor beside the bookshelf and tripped, tumbling forward before a sudden pair of arms halted his movement.

He glanced up at Malfoy, who had managed to catch his fall, startled by how grey his eyes were this close. He’d never really had a proper look at them before, he realized idly. They looked like the sky right before a magnificent storm began.

“Alright there, Potter?” Malfoy said quietly, staring at Harry as though he’d really meant to say something else but now couldn’t remember what it was.

Harry laughed awkwardly, realizing that he’d grabbed onto Malfoy’s shoulders to stay upright and that they now were standing in a close embrace, Malfoy’s arms tight around his waist. Malfoy seemed to notice at the same time and they quickly stepped back from each other, looking anywhere but in the other’s direction.

“Right, so I think Shakespeare’s probably up near the front,” Harry said hurriedly, brushing past Malfoy and nearly running towards the end of the row.

“I-I’ll wait outside,” Malfoy called after him.

Harry quickly scanned the shelves at the front of the store, his blush cooling, finally finding a beautiful copy of Hamlet, which he carried up to the front desk. An old woman was standing behind the desk, dressed in a festive red sweater.

“Hello, dear,” she said, twinkling up at him from behind her spectacles. “Find everything alright?”

“Yes, thank you,” Harry said automatically, glancing at the various knickknacks crowding the counter as the old lady rang up his purchase. More stacks of books were piled on the edges of the desk, with bags of handmade sweets placed on top of one stack and a basket of brightly coloured knit beanies on another, in a variety of sizes.

“These are very nice,” Harry remarked, taking out a white and navy striped hat.

“Thank you,” the lady said, obviously pleased. “I made them myself, just like I do for my grandkids. Keep your head nice and cozy.”

“You know what, I’ll take two,” Harry said, setting the striped one down on the counter and grabbing a smaller crimson one. “And a bag of the caramels.”

“Wonderful.” She beamed at him. “That will be twenty pounds total.”

Harry passed her the cash, taking the paper bag she handed to him, echoing her “Happy Christmas!” Carrying his purchases, he headed back outside, stepping into the cold where Malfoy stood, a cloud from his breath in the air in front of him.

“Find everything?” Malfoy asked, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the salt-stained pavement in front of him.

“Yeah. I found the book for Hermione and I actually stumbled across gifts for Ron and O’Leary as well,” Harry said, thinking of the small hat and the bag of caramels in his bag.

“Glad to hear it,” Malfoy said distractedly, turning to walk down the street.

Harry jogged to catch up with him, falling into step. “Is there anywhere you would like to stop?” He asked, trying to peace-make, even though he wasn’t sure what he’d done to ruffle Malfoy in the first place.

Malfoy shook his head, still not looking at Harry. “I don’t buy gifts.”

Remembering what Malfoy had said about his family’s rough finances, Harry felt a surge of guilt shoot through him. “Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry, Malfoy . . . I didn’t mean to . . . god, my fucking mouth! I didn’t even think—”

“It’s alright, Potter, it’s not that actually,” Malfoy admitted. “I just prefer to make my gifts. I always have.”

“Oh.” Harry said stupidly, panic slowly subsiding. “That’s nice. What sort of things?”

Malfoy shrugged indifferently, but slowed his step so that Harry no longer had to jog to keep up with him. “I do a lot of songs mostly. Not original pieces, but I’ll learn a song I know someone likes especially and play it for them on the piano. There was a year where I tried to make my mother perfume.” He laughed a bit at the memory. “That was an absolute disaster, but she put on a brave face and wore it through dinner with my Great-Aunt Clio. The year I did poetry also received a lot of polite smiles, but even when the gifts have turned out not brilliantly, it’s nice knowing that I’ve made things for the people that I love.”

“Well, I think that’s lovely,” Harry said enthusiastically, still trying to make up for whatever he had done earlier to make Malfoy storm off.

“Thanks, Potter.” Malfoy rolled his eyes, but as he turned away, Harry saw a faint smile reflected in a passing store window.

“So who do you have left to shop for?”

Harry went over his mental list. “Well, I’m going to the Burrow for Christmas dinner and Mrs. Weasley always gives me a present, so I’d like to get her something.”

“That’s nice,” Malfoy offered, seemingly sincere. “That you have some place to go for dinner. It’ll just be me and O’Leary for ours. He always goes a bit over the top with the food and we end up eating the leftovers for over a week after, but it’s delicious, so I don’t really mind.”

“He is an excellent cook,” Harry agreed.

“Are you getting the rest of the Weasleys presents?”

Harry shook his head. “Just some packs of chocolate frogs. You never really know who’s going to show up for Christmas and there’s loads of them, which makes buying gifts nearly impossible. Except . . . I don’t know.” Harry paused, Malfoy watching him curiously. “I always got something for Ginny in the past, but in the years since we’ve broken up, it just feels strange. We’re still friends, but it’s a tad awkward after everything.”

“This is why people don’t stay friends with their exes,” Malfoy said drily, his steps picking up the pace again for some reason.

God, this man was confusing, Harry thought in annoyance, struggling to keep up with him again.

“I mean, she hasn’t gotten me anything since the split either,” he continued, breath puffing out in clouds in front of him. “But I think getting her something would be nice.”

“You’re very good at that, Potter. Being nice,” Malfoy commented distantly, abruptly turning a corner onto another street.

From his tone, Harry couldn’t quite tell whether this was a compliment or an insult. “Thank you?”

“My pleasure,” Malfoy said brusquely. “Now where to next?”

“Oh, okay,” Harry scrambled, having difficulty focusing on the mercurial conversation while also managing to keep pace with Malfoy. “Well, I was thinking if there was any kind of shop that sells knitting needles—”

Harry trailed off as Malfoy came to a sudden stop, turning and studying Harry’s face, as if it were a painting or a building that he wasn’t quite sure what he thought about.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to do. “Is there something on my face?” He joked.

After a moment, Malfoy simply shook his head. “Never mind. Follow me. There’s a knitting shop over on Jasmine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, tension!  
> Is it frustration?   
> Is it sexual?   
> Is it sexual frustration?!  
> Keep tuning in to find out! ;)
> 
> Over a third of the way through now!
> 
> As always, kudos and/or comments are appreciated as much as biodegradable straws!


	10. Please have snow and mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #10
> 
> "Just some good old mistletoe hijinks."

Malfoy remained strangely silent as they made their way to the small crafting goods shop, once again staying outside while Harry ducked in to find a gift for Mrs. Weasley. He came out with a lovely ball of multi-coloured yarn that he was certain he would see incorporated into some of next year’s Christmas presents.

Harry could see that Malfoy was shivering, jaw set stoically despite the obvious discomfort he was in. “You could have come in with me, you know.”

“I’m fine, Potter,” Malfoy said exasperatedly, but the faint chattering of his teeth undercut his words.

“Merlin, Malfoy, I’m not quite as oblivious as you think I am. I have eyes,” Harry said. “Come on. Let’s go get something hot to drink.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but led Harry over towards a cozy looking coffee shop with fairy lights hung around the front window. Inside it was bustling, a steady line snaking through the configuration of small tables, up to the counter.

“This is the store that the market stall belonged to!” Harry said delightedly, noticing the familiar festive chalkboard menus, now hung above the counter.

“This shouldn’t come as that much of a shock,” Malfoy said drily, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. “There’s generally only one coffee shop in a town this small.”

Harry elbowed him in the ribs. “If you always order as antagonistically as you did when I ran into you, I’m amazed you’re not blacklisted from coming here.”

“They tried,” Malfoy admitted.

Harry gaped. “Malfoy!”

“What?” He said defensively. “I’m paying them to provide me with a service! It’s their job to get my order right! And be honest, do I look like the kind of person who would ever order some stupid holiday shit?”

Harry pretended to consider him for a moment, taking in the meticulously coiffed hair, polished shoes, and posh coat. “No,” he relented. “But that isn’t a good enough reason to yell at someone.”

They stepped forward in line, edging closer to the counter.

“Agree to disagree, Potter,” Malfoy said, chin tilted stubbornly in that way he always had when they had fought at school.

“Fine. But you’re not allowed to yell at the barista this time. Promise me.”

Malfoy heaved a melodramatic sigh as they reached the front. “Very well, sanctimonious Gryffindor.”

“Thank you.” Harry stepped up to the counter, smiling as he realized it was the same barista from the market stall. “Hi there, I would like to order a—”

But he was abruptly cut off as Malfoy muttered something under his breath, turned to Harry, taking him by the shoulders, and kissed him on the mouth.

It lasted for only a second, a faint glancing of lips, before he stepped back, leaving Harry sputtering with surprise.

“Malfoy?” Harry wasn’t even sure what he was asking, shock short-circuiting his brain as he tried to process what had just happened.

Malfoy was fumbling as much as he was, a bright pink streaked across his pale face as he pointed towards the cash register, where a small bundle of leaves was attached to the side. “Mistletoe,” he stammered. “I just— I saw it and I— it just happened— because I remembered the ones at Hogwarts and how they’d trap two people, so I figured I’d just do it, but of course it’s Muggle, so it wouldn’t, but I—”

“I’m sorry,” the barista interrupted, looking terribly confused by what Malfoy was saying, but also very apologetic. “It’s actually not mistletoe. It’s a sample of the herbs that are in a new tea that we’re working on promoting.”

Malfoy went even pinker, the sight doing strange things to Harry’s stomach, which was still twisting with adrenaline after what had just happened.

“Why on earth would you have tea herbs stuck on a counter?” Malfoy snapped, hands gesticulating furiously.

“Well, because we serve tea?” The barista offered helplessly, edging away from the counter as they eyed Malfoy’s steadily escalating temper.

Also sensing Malfoy’s volatility, Harry pushed through his own swirling whirlpool of emotion before the situation got too out of hand. “One black coffee and one gingerbread latte to go, please,” he said firmly, tossing a mess of bills and coins down onto the counter, grabbing Malfoy by the sleeve and dragging him off to the side while the barista hurriedly made their drinks, shooting them curious glances as they did so.

“Have a good night,” they said, passing the two to-go cups to Harry.

“Thanks,” he said numbly, following Malfoy out of the shop, wordlessly handing him his drink once they were standing on the sidewalk.

They began walking aimlessly down the sidewalk, neither one really going anywhere, each of them wrapped up in their own thoughts.

“Hey,” Malfoy said suddenly. “I’m really sorry about back there.”

“It’s fine,” Harry hurriedly assured him. “Consider it forgotten.”

“Oh. Oh, okay,” Malfoy said, voice oddly tight as he nodded. “Great. Thanks so much.”

“Sure thing,” Harry said dazedly. His insides felt rather numb now, as if his nerve endings had been dulled. Numb because he had just realized something:

He sort of wanted to take on the consequences of mistletoe again.

_With Malfoy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first Drarry kiss has landed!
> 
> larosesombre has taken great pleasure in threatening me with this prompt for awhile and now here it is! Hopefully I did it justice!
> 
> As always, kudos and/or comments bring me as much happiness as fried cauliflower.


	11. Kiss me on this cold December night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #11
> 
> "Following the earlier 'success' with the mistletoe, Person A can't stop stringing it up. Eventually Person B gets suspcious."

Harry stood in the dining room, eyes fixated on the table. But his head was somewhere else entirely, replaying those few seconds in the coffee shop over and over until they were blurry, as he picked them apart. How could something so insignificant as the slight brushing of skin change how he saw someone he’d known for more than half of his life?

Maybe he was remembering it wrong. The adrenaline from the shock of the moment had created any kind of spark that he’d felt. It could have been anyone kissing him and the effect would have been the same, Harry tried to reason with himself. It didn’t mean that he had a thing for Malfoy. He just had a human reaction to a surprising situation.

Or maybe not.

He sighed frustratedly, circling the loop that had been going around in his head since it had happened. There was no certainty anymore.

He heard footsteps coming down the stairs, giving him a forewarning of Malfoy’s arrival. In a split second, before he even had time to think about what he was doing, Harry Potter did something foolish: he pulled out his wand and created a sprig of magical mistletoe, fixing it to the arch of the dining room’s entryway, just having time to slid his wand back into his pocket as Malfoy entered the living room.

“Morning, Potter,” he said pleasantly, crossing behind one of the couches towards the dining room.

“Morning,” Harry said numbly, taking a step forward, just close enough to the mistletoe that he felt the spell grab onto him, holding him in place. At the same time, Malfoy stepped within range and immediately stopped in his tracks, frowning as the sensation of the spell came over him. He looked up, going white as he saw the small plant attached to the doorway.

“Sweet Salazar,” he groaned. “Potter, I swear, I did not plan this. I have no idea why there is charmed mistletoe in my house, I promise you.”

“It’s alright,” Harry assured him, stomach churning uncomfortably with panic. What had he been thinking?! And before his brain had a chance to catch up with his mouth, he said, “Let’s just get it over so we can go free.”

Malfoy sighed resignedly. “I guess we’d better. The damn charm is impossible to break.” He leaned forward and gave Harry a quick peck on the lips, the grip of the spell immediately breaking.

Harry felt a strange wave sweeping over him that felt an awful lot like . . . disappointment? as he watched Malfoy mutter a counter-curse and vanish the mistletoe with easy efficiency.

“Merlin, I’m so sorry about that,” Malfoy said genuinely, shaking his head in confusion as he stared up at where the plant used to be. “Breakfast?”

***

It was the afternoon the next time Harry tried it again. He wasn’t sure at what point it had become a plan. All he knew was that here he was, standing underneath a bundle of charmed mistletoe that he had conjured above the fireplace in the living room, waiting for the sound of Malfoy’s footsteps, heart beating unnaturally loudly.

“Potter?”

Harry turned, sheepish smile trembling slightly as nerves roiled through him. “Hey. I found another one.”

“How long have you been there?” Malfoy asked concernedly, walking over towards him, stepping into the spell’s parameters.

Harry shrugged, having trouble looking Malfoy in the eye as he came nearer, sure that he would see the lie in his eyes. “Not too long,” he assured him.

“Right. Well, let’s get you out of here.”

This time the kiss lasted a fraction longer, giving Harry a chance to feel the strange but not uncomfortable warmth of Malfoy’s lips pressed to his. His hand was going up to touch Malfoy’s cheek when the spell broke, the sensation disappearing along with the kiss.

“I don’t know what is going on,” Malfoy said, now focused on getting rid of the mistletoe. “I don’t think this stuff just appears out of nowhere.”

“Maybe O’Leary put it up!” Harry blurted, head still spinning from the kiss.

“Maybe,” Malfoy admitted. “He does like that sort of thing. He’s always asking me if I’ll put lights up on the outside of the house or get a Christmas tree.” He laughed slightly. “As if I actually enjoyed all this holiday frou-frou.”

“You should get a Christmas tree,” Harry said, trying to tug Malfoy away from thinking about the mistletoe’s origin. “If not for yourself, at least because O’Leary will enjoy it.”

“Perhaps some year.”

***

The third time it happened was after dinner. Harry went up to his room, only to find Malfoy trapped under a sprig of mistletoe in the middle of the upstairs hallway.

“Thank Merlin, Potter!” He said exasperatedly. “I thought you’d never get here. I’ve been stuck under this damn thing for ten minutes! How long does it take you to finish a slice of pie?”

“Well, unlike some people, I don’t inhale it so fast you miss the taste,” Harry replied, hands shaking a bit as he stood in front of Malfoy, staring into his grey eyes.

“A likely story,” Malfoy said, his voice quiet when it should have been disdainful as he looked back at Harry, gaze tracing soft lines across his face as he leaned closer. Harry could smell the apple pie on his breath, cinnamon and sugar, as he softly closed the gap.

Immediately, this kiss felt different, seeming more intentional than the other ones. Malfoy’s arms slipped around Harry’s waist, the contact sending sparks through him even through the layers of clothes. Neither one pulled away, even when the grip of the spell snapped, drawing it out for dizzying seconds until Harry needed breath and stepped back with a small gasp.

Malfoy leaned against the wall, all casual lines and aristocracy, even in his jumper. “I really should reprimand O’Leary for this,” he said, staring pointedly at Harry.

“What?” Harry asked, mind still focused on what had just happened, heart racing in time.

“About the mistletoe.” Malfoy nodded up towards the deceptively innocent looking plant. “He really can’t continue to be putting this up everywhere or I’ll never be able to leave my room again without worrying about getting stuck.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” Harry said quickly, not wanting the elf to get in trouble for his own foolishness. “I’m sure he’ll move on to some other Christmas thing soon and he doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Malfoy eyed him suspiciously, causing his stomach to drop. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

“I guess we will,” Harry said nervously, watching as Malfoy returned to his room and deciding right then and there to give the whole thing up before it got any more embarrassing. Obviously Malfoy had caught on to his mistletoe hijink.

The only problem was that now Harry wanted to kiss Malfoy even more than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter was surprisingly hard to write! It was nothing like what I'd been planning for their relationship progression, but when you get another mistletoe prompt, you've got deal with that challenge! And I think it turned out alright, so here we are!
> 
> Kudos and/or comments bring me as much joy as finding out Taylor Swift is dropping her second surprise album in five months twenty minutes before it happens!
> 
> (In case you couldn't tell, I'm posting this and then rushing over to listen to it. ;) )


	12. A Merry Little Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #12
> 
> "Uninvited guests turn up, but it's alright because they come bearing gifts."

After the shenanigans with the mistletoe the day before, Harry holed up in his room, not sure if he could look Malfoy in the face and pretend everything was normal.

So instead he wrote an overdue letter to Hermione and Ron, skimming over the details of his vacation, simply saying that he was doing well and had bumped into an old acquaintance. He was sure that if he told them that the ‘old acquaintance’ was Draco Malfoy, he would be facing an endless barrage of questions and a possible howler from Ron. He was his mother’s son after all.

Harry was just finishing the signature, when he heard loud voices coming from downstairs. Curious, he opened his door, stepping out into the hallway and looking down the stairs into the foyer to see a small child bouncing around Malfoy, who was watching with a smile. His gaze flickering up for a moment, an unreadable expression passing over his face when he saw Harry.

The small child turned to look up at him as well. “Uncle Harry!” The child cried delightedly, a big grin coming across his face.

“No, Teddy, we’re visiting Uncle Draco, not Harry,” another voice corrected gently, an older woman with greying platinum hair taking hold of the child’s hand.

“Actually, Aunt Andromeda, he’s correct,” Malfoy admitted reluctantly. “Through some twist of fate, Potter is staying here for a few weeks.”

Bewildered, Harry came down the stairs into the foyer. “What are you two doing here?” He asked, hugging his godson and Andromeda.

“Well, we were in London doing some Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley and thought we’d stop by to give Draco his present,” Andromeda said, gesturing to a package under her arm. “If I’d known you were staying here, I would have brought yours as well.”

Harry waved her off. “I didn’t know I was coming here myself until a few days ago.”

“Please come in,” Malfoy said, gesturing for them to follow him into the living room. “I know that O’Leary is making some tea and cookies for us all to have.”

Harry took a seat on the couch beside Andromeda, while Teddy, hair now starkly pale, scrambled up beside Malfoy, eyes slowly turning grey as he looked up at him. Harry had been visiting monthly with Teddy and Andromeda since the end of the war and so was quite used to seeing Teddy’s sudden morphings, but the abrupt similarity to Malfoy’s colouring startled him for some reason.

“Are you staying here over Christmas, Harry?” Andromeda asked, setting down Malfoy’s present beside the couch.

“No, I’m leaving on Christmas morning actually,” Harry said. “I’ll spend the day with the Weasleys and then head back to my flat.”

“Ah, very nice. And what about you, Draco? Any holiday plans?”

“Just a quiet dinner with me and O’Leary,” he said, passing Teddy a pillow to prop himself up with.

“With apple pie?” Teddy asked eagerly, now leaning comfortably back on the pillow.

“Always with apple pie,” Malfoy said to him, smiling with an easy sincerity that Harry had never seen before. He had known that Andromeda and Teddy visited with the Malfoys every so often, but he hadn’t realized how close Teddy was to that side of his family and, by extension, to Malfoy. It was an odd moment, thinking about how few degrees of separation really had been between him and Malfoy these past five years, despite their never running into each other until now.

Malfoy looked up from Teddy, suddenly noticing Harry watching the two of them and Harry felt his face flush, turning his gaze onto the roaring fire in the grate instead.

A ‘pop!’ sounded and O’Leary appeared in the middle of the living room, balancing a plate of cookies and a heavy tray with a tea pot and cups.

“O’Leary!” Teddy cried happily, sliding down off of the sofa to hug the house elf.

“Master Teddy!” O’Leary beamed, setting down the cookies and tea so he could return the child’s hug. “Would Master Teddy like a cookie? O’Leary made them himself!”

Teddy nodded enthusiastically, staring hard at the tray before choosing one shaped like a snowflake, blue sprinkles dotting the edges of his mouth as he munched on it.

“Tea, Aunt Andromeda?” Malfoy offered.

“Thank you, just a small cup,” she said. “We can’t stay too long. Teddy and I have Christmas cookies of our own to bake this afternoon.”

Malfoy passed the cup over to her. “That sounds fun. Are you excited to bake cookies, Teddy?”

“Yes!” The child cheered. “I want to do a really big one.”

“That’s a nice way to get in the holiday spirit,” Harry said, remembering the cookies that Aunt Petunia used to make every December. Of course, Dudley ate all of them before he could ever try any, but even the smell was enough to make the holiday seem more real.

“Speaking of holiday spirit, I don’t see much of it around here,” Andromeda noted, nodding at the bare walls.

“You know I don’t care much for Christmas, Auntie. Although there was an infestation of mistletoe around here yesterday,” Malfoy said, pointedly not looking at Harry, who felt his stomach turn over with nerves.

Andromeda glanced between the two of them, eyes sharp with curiosity. “Sometimes it can be nice to try something new,” she said finally.

“Sometimes,” Harry echoed, staring into the depths of his tea cup.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Malfoy said meaningfully, still refusing to look in Harry’s direction.

“Well, you should at least get a tree, so you have somewhere to put your present under,” Andromeda said. “And you know how much O’Leary would like that.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.”

“Uncle Draco, play the piano!” Teddy said, tugging on Malfoy’s pantleg insistently and pointing towards the large instrument.

“Only if you help,” Malfoy told him, walking across to the piano and helping Teddy up onto the bench.

“Just one song, Teddy, because we have to go and make cookies,” Andromeda reminded him.

“Okay!”

Harry watched as Malfoy whispered something to Teddy, who nodded, eyes wide as Malfoy positioned his fingers on the keys, before beginning to play the lower half of ‘Heart and Soul’. Malfoy played a few bars, before nodding at Teddy, who slowly began playing the higher part, poking at the keys with one finger. The song was far from melodious, but the grins the two of them were sharing as they came to the end of the song was sweeter than any tune.

Harry and Andromeda clapped, as Malfoy took Teddy’s hand as they bowed, Teddy bouncing on his toes with excitement.

“That was marvelous,” Andromeda said, getting to her feet and going over to her grandson and nephew. “What do you say to Uncle Draco, Teddy?”

“Thank you!” Teddy said, hugging the side of Malfoy’s leg.

“Any time,” Malfoy said softly, resting a hand on Teddy’s blond head.

Malfoy was going to be a great father someday, Harry realized suddenly, watching as he helped Andromeda and Teddy with their coats.

“Harry, it was wonderful to see you so unexpectedly,” Andromeda said, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Harry smiled. “And it was great to see you and Teddy as well. We’ll have to try and meet up some time in the new year.”

“Definitely.” She leaned in to hug him, whispering in his ear, “And do be careful with Draco. He’s doing really well now, but he’s still fragile.” She looked at him meaningfully as she pulled back.

“Y-yeah, okay,” Harry stammered, certainly that he was blushing as red as his old Gryffindor tie. “I will.”

Malfoy looked at him curiously, but then Andromeda was pulling him into a hug and saying something to him, leaving Harry to say goodbye to Teddy.

“Eat one of your cookies for me later, alright?” He said, holding out a hand for a high five.

Teddy high fived him with surprising force, nodding. “Happy Christmas, Uncle Harry.”

“Happy Christmas, Teddy.” Harry noted that his godson’s hair was slowly darkening from blond to black as he walked out the door with Andromeda, eyes brilliantly green as he turned to wave at him and Malfoy.

“It’s sweet how he does that,” Malfoy commented casually, waving back before Andromeda and Teddy Disapparated.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, looking over at Malfoy. “Very sweet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never actually written Teddy or Andromeda before, but I've always loved them in Drarry fics, so hopefully I did them justice!
> 
> Kudos and/or comments make me as happy as vegan poutine with mushrooms. :)


	13. Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #13
> 
> "While waiting for Draco to come home, Harry starts worrying that he may have gotten stranded in the blizzard."

Tired of sitting up in his room avoiding Malfoy, Harry curled up on the sofa beside the fire place, reading a book until O’Leary would announce it was dinner time. The fire was burned down to embers, which emitted a warm heat that sunk into Harry’s bones in a way his flat’s crappy heat system never did. When he got back, he would have to ask Hermione if there was a way to magically install a wood-burning fire place in his living room without making his Muggle neighbours suspicious.

“Potter, the fire?”

“What?” Harry looked up at the sudden sound of Malfoy’s voice, wondering if he had spoke his thought about installing a fireplace aloud. “This may come as a surprise to you, but I’ll be careful enough not to burn my flat down.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, looking down at him, arms folded across his chest with unmistaken irritability. “I don’t know what you’re going on about, Potter, but I have no desire to hear about your flat. What I would like to know is why you let the fire burn down when you were sitting right next to it!”

Now it was Harry’s turn to be confused. “Sorry, why am I supposed to be stopping the fire from burning? Isn’t that the point of having a fire?”

“You’re not supposed to let it go out!” Malfoy said exasperatedly, crouching down beside the glimmering coals. “Sweet Salazar, Potter, we’ve talked about this!”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve never mentioned anything of the sort to me,” Harry said, racking his memory of the past week. “And even if you had, it hasn’t gone out. It’s smouldering, the way it’s supposed to.”

“Were you raised in a barn?” Malfoy muttered, pulling out his wand and conjuring a flame within the fireplace.

“No, the barn was too good for me, so I just got the cupboard instead,” Harry snapped back, annoyed by Malfoy’s condescension and that fact that even when he was being a complete git, Harry still wanted to run his hands through his obnoxiously perfect hair.

“Could you be any more overdramatic?” Malfoy grumbled to himself, standing and brushing the soot from his hands.

“What did you just say?” Harry demanded, standing to face him as his temper flared.

“I said ‘could you be any more overdramatic’?” Malfoy repeated loudly, eyes shining with a familiar vicious triumph that had taunted Harry all through school.

Harry laughed. “That’s very pot-kettle from someone who faked an injury for months just because a big bird scared them.”

“Well, at least I wasn’t the one who was always throwing myself into danger just so people would notice me—”

“Oh yes, it was just so much fun having all the papers saying I was a liar because a psychopath tried to kill me!”

“Better that than—”

“—Dinner is ready!”

O’Leary suddenly appeared between the two of them, cheery smile dropping when he noticed how they were looking at each other, eyes narrowed with fury and hands clenched by their sides.

Malfoy glanced towards the house elf, at once becoming deadly calm in a way that was more unnerving than his anger. “I’m going out, O’Leary. Don’t wait up.”

Harry watched as he strode over to the door, grabbing his coat and boots before stalking out of the house, slamming the door hard behind him, leaving the echo behind as O’Leary stared at Harry with disappointment.

“Mr. Porter and Mr. Malfoy should not fight,” he said sadly, disappearing back into the kitchen.

***

Harry stewed over the fight while he ate his dinner, glaring angrily at Malfoy’s empty seat. Calling Harry overdramatic when he was the one who had stormed off! The nerve.

But as the evening went on, Harry’s anger began to fade, as snow began blowing down from a darkly clouded sky, Malfoy still not back. The flakes started falling faster and more heavily, until Harry peered out from the window to see a full-blown blizzard raging.

O’Leary noticed him standing watch by the window, coming over and saying kindly, “Mr. Malfoy is fine.”

“You don’t know that,” Harry insisted, slivers of worry piercing him as he thought about Malfoy stuck out in the freezing storm. “What if he’s stranded somewhere?”

“O’Leary knows that Mr. Malfoy is a very capable wizard,” the elf said sagely. “O’Leary is sure that he will turn up when he is ready.”

But hours passed by, still with no sign of Malfoy.

Harry found himself standing guard at the house’s front window, eyes peering anxiously through the whirling waves of snow for a shock of pale hair or a dark coat. O’Leary said nothing, only setting a cup of coffee beside him, which Harry ignored, not able to pull his gaze away from the window for a second.

If only he had never gotten into it with Malfoy. He should have just apologized about the fire and moved on without engaging and then he would be here, still freezing Harry out over the mistletoe incidents.

Oh, god, the mistletoe. What if Malfoy was dying in the snow, without Harry ever having told him how he . . . that he . . .

“Merlin, it’s really coming down out there! O’Leary, could you put on some tea?”

Harry stood up so fast that he knocked over his cold cup of coffee, rushing over to the foyer to find Malfoy hanging up his coat, cheeks reddened from the cold, but otherwise appearing unscathed.

“Malfoy, you absolute bastard!” Harry said, flinging himself towards the blond young man and throwing his arms around him. Malfoy’s hands were ice-cold as he cautiously returned the embrace.

“Have you gone mental at last, Potter?” He asked, bemused, as Harry stood back.

“You were missing for hours in a fucking blizzard, so I think I have the right to be bit mental!” Harry snapped, looking over Malfoy to make sure he hadn’t lost any limbs to frostbite. “I was frantic, thinking you’d finally managed to get yourself killed!”

Harry went silent, realizing what he’d just said. Malfoy was staring at him with wide-eyes, just as surprised as he was.

“I’m sorry that I worried you,” he said at last, no trace of mockery in his tone, features softened with sincerity.

“Right,” Harry said awkwardly, suddenly noticing how close they were standing. “Well then.”

“Well then,” Malfoy whispered, gaze flickering down to Harry’s mouth for a second, before looking back up, eyes questioning.

Not quite sure exactly what he was answering, Harry nodded imperceptibly, shifting an inch closer, noting the flecks of snow crystals caught in Malfoy’s hair. Once again, Malfoy’s icy hands pressed against the small of Harry’s back as his eyes fluttered closed.

Right as Malfoy kissed him.

This time there was no mistletoe, no chaste peck to break a spell. Just the taste of snow on his lips and an undeniable wanting as Harry leaned into him, Malfoy’s hands tightening on his back.

Then a sudden ‘pop!’ sounded and they quickly broke apart as O’Leary appeared, carrying a large thermos of tea.

“Mr. Malfoy shouldn’t stay out in the cold so long,” he scolded, betraying the worry that he too had been feeling.

Gaze staying on Harry’s, a hint of a smile edged around Malfoy’s mouth as he soothed O’Leary, who dragged him into the living room to sit in front of the blazing fire with a blanket around his shoulders. The house elf sat beside him, determined to make sure he drank every last sip of tea, but Harry could see Malfoy smiling around the thermos. Smiling at Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well, the good ship Drarry is now officially sailing!
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are as wonderful as Princess Leia's badassery. :)


	14. Teach my feet to fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #14
> 
> "Character A hunts for their gift, much to the annoyance of Character B who wants it to remain a surprise."

“Potter.”

Harry looked up so quickly from his breakfast bowl that he felt his neck begin to ache. The meal had been strangely silent so far, the two of them sneaking glances at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. He was desperate for some break in the tension. “Yes?”

Malfoy quirked an amused eyebrow. “I was thinking that the weather outside is looking quite lovely and that I might go skating and that perhaps you might like to come along?”

“I-er, well, yes! Absolutely. I would love to,” Harry sputtered, the unspoken implications of Malfoy’s question hanging heavy in the air: he was asking him out on a date.

“Very good then,” Malfoy nodded, as nonchalantly as if he’d just asked Harry if he was enjoying his oatmeal rather than talking about a dramatic catalyst in their over a decade long relationship. “Shall we head out around ten?”

“Um, yeah, sure, that works for me, great!”

“Elegant as always, Potter,” Malfoy noted drily, but Harry could have sworn that a smile flickered behind his coffee cup.

The two of them finished up their breakfast and headed outside, dressed in proper winter accoutrement.

“This way, Potter,” Malfoy directed, heading down the road to the right of the house. Harry had only ever gone left to the village and was curious to see where Malfoy was leading him.

They continued down the road for a ways, until Malfoy veered off of the road, walking into a thick stand of trees.

“The lake is through here!” He called back to Harry, who had been watching him with apprehension.

Still skeptical, Harry waded through the snow after him, ducking under tree branches as Malfoy led him down what looked to be a narrow deer path that wove through the forest, finally coming out – sure enough – on the snowy banks of an iced over lake.

Malfoy laughed at Harry’s surprised expression. “I told you I knew where I was going,” he said smugly. “My family has been coming here every few years since I was a child.”

“I guess I just never really thought of you as the outdoors type,” Harry admitted, taking a moment to transfigure his boots into skates the way Hermione had taught him and Ron to do when they had gone skating on the Great Lake at Hogwarts.

“Well, I guess you don’t know everything about me then,” Malfoy said, changing his own boots and stepping out onto the lake.

Harry followed him, cautiously inching across the ice as he got his footing. A faint remainder of last night’s snowfall dusted the frozen surface of the lake and Malfoy’s skates scored lines behind him as he traversed the ice with a careless ease.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” Harry said with a laugh, wobbling a bit as he tried to continue forward without losing his balance. “Since school actually.”

Malfoy skated back towards him, looping around him in wide circles. “I come out here every couple of days as soon as the ice is solid enough. I find it rather peaceful.”

“That sounds nice,” Harry said. “It’s actually the whole reason why I came out here in the first place.”

“And how’s that worked out for you?” Malfoy snorted.

“Pretty well actually,” Harry said, intentionally holding his gaze until Malfoy blushed and looked away.

“Right, well you’ll catch on to skating again pretty soon.” Malfoy swooped around him in one last spiral, stopping beside him in a spray of ice and taking firm hold of his hand. “We’ll start slow.”

Despite the feeling of Malfoy’s palm against his being more of a distraction than a help, Harry’s steps gradually began to smooth out, and soon he was gliding along at a decent pace. Instead of staring at his feet, he was able to glance over and smile at Malfoy, who smirked back in true fashion, sending a jolt of butterflies through Harry’s stomach and causing him to stumble. Still clutching onto Malfoy’s hand, Harry pulled them both crashing down onto the bank at the edge of the lake, the snow cushioning their fall.

Harry began laughing as Malfoy half sat up beside him, snow sticking to his hair.

“God, Potter, you really are incapable of remaining standing,” he groaned. “That’s the third time you’ve tripped on top of me.”

Harry grinned at him. “Have you ever considered that it might be your fault for being so obnoxiously good-looking?”

“Don’t go blaming your clumsiness on me, Potter!” Malfoy said in mock-horror.

“Oh, but I think I will,” Harry murmured. Feeling emboldened, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to Malfoy’s lips, the sensation still shocking, especially when Malfoy tangled a hand in his scarf and pulled him back for a second one, challenge glinting in his grey eyes.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he said casually. “If you expect me to actually believe y—”

But Harry cut him off, the familiar heat of competing with the Slytherin now paired with the electricity of kissing him in an irresistible pull.

Grabbing onto his shoulders, Malfoy rolled him over, intent on regaining the upper hand, only to smack himself against the trunk of a nearby pine tree.

“Shit!” He pulled back from Harry, feeling the back of his head.

Harry couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the sight of Malfoy scowling up at the tree. “It’s a sign,” he said when he could catch his breath. “You really should get a Christmas tree.”

“Merlin, why does everyone keep bothering me about getting a tree?” Malfoy complained, cradling his head as he fell back onto the ground beside Harry.

“Well, because it’s festive for this time of year and it smells good and where else am I supposed to put your present?” Harry listed off.

Malfoy grinned slyly. “You bought me a Christmas present?”

Harry could feel his face warming. “Er, well, I just came across something when I was in town the other day. I wasn’t even sure if I was going to give it to you, but I saw it and there it was, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I got it, but now, well.” Harry gestured helplessly between the two of them, face completely on fire now.

“You bought me a present,” Malfoy teased, sounding terribly smug and self-satisfied. “Presumptuous much, Potter?”

“Lay off, Malfoy.”

“So the mistletoe was what, just an insurance policy?” He grinned dangerously and Harry knew he was not escaping this time.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that—”

“Oh? And would you call it? Do share.”

“Maybe an experiment?”

“Goodness, kissing me was an experiment! I’m just so flattered. Wait until Pansy hears,” Malfoy drawled sarcastically.

“Well, I didn’t know if it was just the shock of the first kiss!” Harry protested.

“What about the shock of the first one?” Malfoy goaded, smirking with entirely too much enjoyment for Harry’s liking.

Harry groaned. He should have known Malfoy wouldn’t let this go. So instead of fight, he took the other option: flight.

“Hey, Potter, where are you going?” Malfoy called, pausing to transfigure his skates back into boots as Harry pushed up off the ground and took off running through the trees.

He could hear Malfoy close behind him, the other boy finally catching up and tackling him to the ground.

“Omph! Get off, you’re heavy!”

“You didn’t answer my question yet,” Malfoy said sweetly.

“Fine,” Harry relented, staring at Malfoy’s chin so he didn’t have to look in his eyes as he quickly mumbled, “IputupthemistletoebecauseIdidn’tknowifitwasjusttheshockofthefirstkissthatmademethinkIlikedyou.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “And the consensus is?”

Harry finally met his gaze. “The consensus is that yes, against all odds, I like you, Draco Malfoy.”

He shrugged, half smile playing over his lips. “Well, that happens to work out quite well then, because it just so happens that I also, against all odds, like you, Harry Potter.”

“Thank Merlin; otherwise I would have to have some words with you about what just happened back there beside the lake,” Harry said, barely able to suppress his own smile.

“Come on, Potter. Let’s go home.”

***

Later that day, Harry heard a curious clattering sound coming from his room. Tiptoeing up the stairs with his wand out, ready to call for Malfoy and O’Leary, he rushed into his room, sweeping his wand around as he searched frantically for the intruder.

“Malfoy?”

“Ahem, good evening, Potter,” the blond young man attempted, crouched guiltily beside the desk, as if he had been looking underneath it. While searching for something.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked sternly.

“Ah, well, it’s a funny story, you see, I came in here, looking for a broom,” Malfoy said, trying his best to look innocent and not at all like someone ransacking a guest’s room.

“Oh, you’re looking for a broom?”

A sliver of relief passed over Malfoy’s face for a second, before he nodded gravely, making his way quickly past Harry towards the door. “Yes, so if you happen to see one—"

“Malfoy, you’re not going to find your Christmas present.”

“Christmas what?” Malfoy said innocently, while his eyes shifted around the room guiltily.

Gotcha!

“I can’t believe that you’re trying to find your present!” Harry scolded.

Still clinging to the act, Malfoy continued to edge towards the door and his escape, insisting, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Potter. Really, such an accusation—”

“You’ll never find it,” Harry told him.

“Damn it, Potter!” Malfoy said crossly. “I want to know!”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Harry said stubbornly, pushing Malfoy out the door with a quick consolation kiss brushed against his cheek before he shut the door to block his protests.

Even dating Malfoy wasn’t easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I really want to go skating. Damn covid. 
> 
> Kudos and/or comments make me as happy as illegible signatures. :)


	15. O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #15
> 
> "Character A still writes letters to Father Christmas. Character B never has."

Harry took a sheaf of parchment out from the bottomless bag, setting it beside the inkwell and quill he had already placed on the desk. Sitting down in front of it, he carefully dipped the quill in the ink and held it over the parchment, considering what he was going to write.

“Hey, Potter, do you want to—”

Malfoy’s abrupt entrance startled him, causing him to drop the quill onto the parchment, spattering ink across its formerly pristine surface.

“A little warning would be nice next time,” Harry said, muttering a quick scourgify to clean up the ink.

“Next time,” Malfoy agreed carelessly, leaning over Harry’s shoulder to peer at the paper. “Who are you writing?”

Harry hesitated. While his and Malfoy’s relationship was considerably less antagonistic, he knew the Slytherin wouldn’t be able to stop himself from mocking him mercilessly, no matter how much he may have changed. But Malfoy also had a talent for smelling lies, which Harry was no good at telling in the first place.

“I’m writing to Father Christmas,” Harry finally admitted, bracing himself for the barrage of laughter about to come him way.

Instead Malfoy simply frowned with confusion. “Sorry, did you say that you’re _writing_ to him?”

Harry squirmed uncomfortably, unsure how to respond to Malfoy’s strange reaction. “Well, not really. I just used to love doing it as a kid, when I actually believed that there was a bearded man who brought presents to all the good children, even if I never actually got anything I asked for, and so I’ve carried the spirit of the tradition on. It’s a nice way of sitting down once a year and thinking about what things I want most in the world and how grateful I am for the things that I do have, like wonderful friends.”

“Oh, so it’s a Muggle thing!” Malfoy nodded in sudden understanding. “Wizard children know that Father Christmas is far too busy with his magical ritual preparation to do something so mundane as respond to letters.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to look puzzled. “’Magical ritual preparation’?”

“You know, it takes quite a lot of time to transfigure presents for all the children in the world, and don’t even get me started on the portkeys for the elves.” Malfoy shuddered. “It must be an absolute nightmare.”

Understanding dawned on Harry, accompanied by an excitement that he hadn’t felt since he was a child. “Do you mean to say that Father Christmas is a real person?”

Malfoy looked at him strangely. “Of course he’s a real person. He’s one of the most famous wizards in the world. You said it yourself, even Muggles know about him.”

“Really? That’s amazing!”

“Er, yes, I suppose it is,” Malfoy agreed awkwardly, extremely perplexed by Harry’s sudden delight. “Although I really wouldn’t recommend sending him a letter.”

“I’m not actually sending it—”

Malfoy waved a hand dismissively. “Brilliant. Carry on then if you like, although I just came in to tell you that O’Leary and I were going to head outside to find a tree and you are welcome to come with us if you like.”

He turned to walk out the door now that his message was finally delivered, but Harry called him back, grinning for a completely different reason now.

“Just to clarify, this is a Christmas tree that you’re talking about?”

“Well, yes, of course, I’m not going to go find a random tree and bring it inside for shits and giggles.”

“Mm-hmm. And this would be the same Christmas tree that you’ve been refusing to get for how long now?”

“Honestly, Potter, I don’t see how this is relevant,” Malfoy edged closer to the door.

“Alright,” Harry said, getting up from his chair and following Malfoy down the stairs. “But I am putting this memory in a Pensieve and watching it every day for the rest of my life: Draco Malfoy finally caves to the holiday spirit and gets a Christmas tree!”

“Shut up, Potter.”

Harry grinned cheekily. “I don’t think I will, thanks.”

Malfoy continued to ignore Harry’s jabs as they continued outside, where O’Leary was nearly bouncing with excitement. He kept popping in and out of view around them, squeaking with joy as they made their way to the forest that edged the yard of 9544 Magnolia.

“O’Leary is having a Christmas tree!” The elf hummed happily, the ends of his long knobbly maroon scarf trailing in the snow behind him.

“You pick which one you want,” Malfoy said, gesturing to the expanse of evergreen trees tucked between the skeletal branches of leafless oaks and maples.

Harry watched as the house elf wandered through the forest, peering at each tree carefully, measuring height and width, and examining the colouration of the needles with the seriousness of a doctor preparing to make a diagnosis. O’Leary had obviously been preparing for this moment for a very long time.

“This is really lovely of you,” Harry said quietly to Malfoy, reaching over and squeezing his hand.

Malfoy shrugged but he was watching O’Leary with faint traces of a smile. “It makes him happy.”

“Yes, it does,” Harry said, thinking of the old Malfoy and how the very notion of going out of his way for another creature’s happiness, especially one which he would have considered vastly inferior to himself, would have made him laugh in disbelief. And now he was out in the freezing cold, waiting for a house elf to pick out his Christmas tree, just because it would make him happy.

Harry and Malfoy stood there for the better portion of an hour, as O’Leary laboriously inspected each tree to his satisfaction, muttering to himself as he made notes on the various faults and advantages of each one.

Finally, he came out of the forest, looking satisfied. “O’Leary has found his tree,” he announced proudly, leading them through the trees until they came to a stout fir that stood a bit taller than Malfoy. The needles were a glossy dark green and the branches were layered tightly, with no gaps at any spots.

“It’s lovely, O’Leary,” Malfoy said, nodding towards the pleased elf.

“Very good find,” Harry complimented.

The two wizards then got to work magically cutting through the base of the tree, Harry holding it up while Malfoy did the spellwork, claiming that it was because he had more practice with charms, while Harry felt certain that it was because he hadn’t wanted a face-full of needles. Although he couldn’t really blame him, as it was certainly not an enjoyable experience.

Fir tree now freed from the ground, they carefully leviosaed it across the yard and into the house, O’Leary yelling instructions at them the entire time that usually ended being the exact opposite of what he actually meant.

But, confusing directions aside, they eventually managed to place the tree in a stand in a corner of the living room, the branches just brushing the side of Malfoy’s beloved grand piano.

Harry cast a quick cleaning spell to get rid of the trail of discarded needles that dotted the floor in a path from the door, the scent of fir already beginning to tinge the air.

“Now for decorations!” O’Leary declared, snapping his fingers. Instantly, shiny red baubles appeared across the tree’s branches.

Harry charmed together some strings of lumoses, while Malfoy transfigured an abandoned tea mug into a star for the top. O’Leary continued to create ornament charms, conjuring bulbs in green, silver, and gold, to go along with the red ones he had already placed.

By the end of a half hour, the tree was glittering with spelled decorations, reminding Harry of the Christmas trees that had filled the Great Hall during the holidays at Hogwarts.

“It’s perfect,” O’Leary whispered, staring up at the glowing tree with what almost looked like tears in his eyes.

Harry and Malfoy shared a smile, watching as the elf continued to take in the sight of the Christmas tree with a contented sigh.

“And now there’s some place proper to put Andromeda’s gift,” Malfoy said, taking the wrapped package down from the shelf where it had been kept, now nudging it under the tree. He looked over hopefully at Harry. “And perhaps it will be joined by a sibling—"

“Malfoy, I’m not telling you what your present is!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three cheers to caving to peer pressure!
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are as wonderful as a freshly dusted room. :)


	16. Up on the House Top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #16
> 
> "They may not be Father Christmas, but they have a good reason for appearing in the chimney in the middle of the night..."

_Crash!_

Harry woke up with a start, heart pounding as he listened again for the sound.

Muffled clattering was coming from downstairs.

Grabbing his wand, he crept out into the hallway. Malfoy was already there, a frown of determination on his face, as he motioned for Harry to follow him downstairs.

They slowly went down the stairs, wands at the ready as they came into the living room. Harry looked around frantically for the intruder. Movement flashed in the corner of his eye and he swung around, shouting, “Stupefy!”

Something heavy fell to the ground beside the Christmas tree. Harry cautiously made his way over, noticing that some of O’Leary’s bulbs were smashed on the ground.

He came around the tree to see a person lying limp on the ground, knocked unconscious by the spell.

“I think I got them,” Harry called over to Malfoy.

“Thank Merlin,” he said, striding over to Harry’s side and leaning down to roll the person over to see their face, their ginger hair flopping unceremoniously over their brow.

Harry groaned.

It was Ron.

The realization seemed to strike Malfoy at the same moment. “Wait, isn’t that Weasley?”

“Yes, and he’s going to kill me,” Harry said grimly, crouching beside his best mate and muttering the counter-curse.

Ron’s eyes opened and he sat up with a gasp, wand arm flailing wildly. “I’m armed! I’m armed! Don’t hurt Harry!”

“I’m right here, Ron,” Harry soothed, ducking out of the way as Ron pointed his wand at him. “Now, just put that down please before I really do end up hurt.”

“Harry!” Ron cried with relief, finally taking in his friend’s face. “Thank Merlin you’re alright!”

“Of course, I’m alright. What did you think had happened to me? And why are you here?” Harry asked, deeply confused by his friend’s presence.

“Well, I’m here to rescue you,” Ron said matter-of-factly, jabbing his wand towards Malfoy, who he had just noticed over Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t even think about it, Malfoy! It’s two again one now!”

“Good evening to you as well, Weasley,” Malfoy said drily.

“I mean it!” Ron got to his feet, still quite unsteady from the stunning spell, but brandishing his wand determinedly. “I won’t let you keep Harry hostage any longer!”

“Keeping me hostage?” Now Harry was even more confused.

“Mum ran into Andromeda at Flourish and Blots the other day,” Ron explained, all while keeping his eyes and wand trained on Malfoy. “And she mentioned that it was so nice that you got a chance to stay with Malfoy and ‘start over’ after all these years or some other rubbish, and you never mentioned anything about Malfoy to me or Hermione, so we—well, _I_ , assumed that you were being held hostage by the slimy git and had to pretend everything was alright or he’d Avada you. So that’s why I’m here to rescue you, but I bashed my head on the chimney coming int through the Floo and stumbled into the Christmas tree and knocked some stuff off of it, so now he’s been alerted to my presence, but don’t worry, Harry, I don’t need the element of surprise to take him down!”

“Take him down,” Harry repeated faintly, still processing Ron’s rambling explanation.

“Just say the word and I’ll get him, Harry!” Ron declared boldly, waving his wand menacingly.

“No, don’t, that’s not necessary!” Harry said hurriedly, moving past any lingering confusion he had to prevent Ron from stunning Malfoy. “Really, Ron, everything’s fine. He’s not holding me hostage.”

“Really . . .” Ron peered suspiciously towards Malfoy, who was watching this whole thing with a look of utter amusement, to Harry’s relief. He had been worried that Malfoy would get horribly offended by the whole encounter, but luckily, he seemed more entertained than insulted.

“Really,” Harry assured him. “Put away your wand and come sit down and I’ll explain the whole thing.”

“Alright,” Ron agreed warily. “But if he makes so much as one wrong move, I’ll get him! Ginny’s been teaching me her Bat-Bogey hex and it works almost every time now, so I wouldn’t try anything, mister.”

Malfoy looked like he was struggling to hide a smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Harry managed to guide them both over to the kitchen table, making them both place their wands in the center so that no one got twitchy.

“Alright, now Ron, first and foremost, I’m not in any kind of danger,” Harry said soothingly. “It turns out that Malfoy happened to own the house I was staying at during my vacation. No nefarious plan. Just simple coincidence.”

“Or is it?” Malfoy said in a melodramatic voice, still on the verge of laughter.

Harry glared at him. “You’re not helping.”

Malfoy smiled innocently, leaning back in his chair. “I know.”

“Anyway,” Harry continued, ignoring Malfoy. “I didn’t tell either you or Hermione because I didn’t want you to . . . well, do what you did tonight.”

“Fair point,” Ron begrudged.

“But I’m fine. Malfoy’s fine. I’m fine with Malfoy,” Harry reiterated, placing a hand on his friend’s arm. “We’ve moved past everything in our history and are just living in the present.”

He glanced over at Malfoy, who looked caught a bit off guard by Harry’s statement, but nodded in agreement.

“I’m too tired for any nefarious plotting, Weasley,” he drawled. “Besides, if I was going to try to take Potter hostage, this would have been a terrible plan. Salazar Slytherin would have turned over in his grave.”

“Serious, not helping.”

“What happened to being fine?”

“So, you’re really alright, mate?” Ron broke in, looking at Harry with relief.

“Absolutely,” Harry promised him. “But thank you for coming to rescue you me all the same.”

“You’re welcome—”

_Thud!_

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, where the fuck are you?”

They all turned around to see a fuming Hermione marching out of the Floo grate, a grim expression on her face.

Ron shrunk back in his chair.

“Hello, Hermione,” Harry said, feeling a bit as though he wanted to hide himself.

Her face softened as she took him in, eyes flickering over the grouping at the table. “Hello, Harry. Sorry to bother you so late. I’m just here to retrieve my _idiot_ fiancé.”

“Hello, love,” Ron said apprehensively.

She glared at him. “Ron, we talked about this! Harry, I’m so sorry. I told him you could take care of yourself and that you were probably fine.” Her eyes flickered towards Malfoy, glinting with apprehension that undercut her words.

“I really am okay,” Harry assured her. “Although I did appreciate the feeling behind Ron’s attempted rescue.”

“Well, that still doesn’t excuse him running off in the middle of the night,” she said pointedly.

Ron blushed. “I really am sorry, Mione. I was just worried about Harry.”

Hermione relaxed a bit, hands unclenching, and she sighed. “I know. But you leaving made _me_ worried about _you_.”

“How about let’s all just be grateful that we’re all fine and move past this,” Harry suggested. “And next time I’ll tell you who I’m staying with.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you planning to vacation in other ex-Death Eaters’ houses? And here I thought I was special.”

Harry groaned. “I need a drink.”

“I agree,” Malfoy said. “And I’m sure that Granger and Weasley do as well. Since you’re here anyway, would you care to stay for a cup of hot chocolate? It’ll give you time to ascertain that I’m not holding your beloved Golden Boy captive.”

“I guess we could,” Hermione said, glancing at Ron, who nodded.

“Wonderful,” Malfoy said, with only a thin trace of sarcasm.

Hermione sat down at the table while Malfoy went to make them all cups of hot chocolate. Just as Harry expected, as soon as he was out of ear shot, his friends began drilling him to make sure he actually was alright and after several minutes of assuring them that yes, he was there of his own free will and yes, Malfoy really wasn’t too bad now and that yes Hermione, he does have a house elf but no, he isn’t a slave, Malfoy pays him and they’re actually quite good friends, they both seemed to visibly settle down and stop inching their hands towards their wands.

Malfoy returned with the cocoa, and continued to make an effort to be, if not actually pleasant, at least not openly hostile, making only one or two snide remarks each time after which Harry kicked him pointedly under the table. Slowly Ron and Hermione began to talk more freely and soon they were all chatting about Christmas memories from Hogwarts and the heavy amount of snow Britain was getting this year and the new breed of letter-carrying owl taking the wizarding world by storm, but was actually no better than a regular mail owl. Malfoy’s charm was making a rare appearance and Harry watched as his friends became more at ease with the Slytherin.

“Well, thank you so much for the hot chocolate, Malfoy, but we really should be getting back,” Hermione said finally around five in the morning, standing up from the table with an openly yawning Ron.

“Of course,” Malfoy nodded. “There’s Floo powder on the mantle.”

“You’re not too bad, Malfoy,” Ron begrudged through another cavernous yawn.

Malfoy smirked. “I always aspired to be tolerable.”

Harry guided his friends towards the fire place, thanking them again for the intention behind their visit, even if it had been misguided.

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione said, reaching up to give him a hug. “Although Malfoy really does seem like a different person.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Ron agreed sleepily, eyes fluttering shut.

“I’m glad that you two reconnected,” Hermione said quietly. “You needed closure with him.”

Harry grinned sheepishly, thinking of the butterflies he got whenever Malfoy held his hand. “I don’t know if I would call it that, but I’m glad you’re okay with it all.”

“If you’re happy, then we’ll always be okay with it,” Hermione promised, letting Ron lean tiredly on her shoulder. “We’ll see you at Christmas, alright?”

“Definitely. Have a safe trip back.”

He watched as his two best friends stepped into the fire place one by one, shouting their address aloud and disappearing in a flurry of green flames.

“Well, that was different,” Malfoy commented casually, coming up behind Harry and slipping his arms around his waist.

Harry leaned back against him. “Thank you for being, I don’t know if I would say polite, but close to pleasant.”

“I try.”

“You really did though,” Harry said seriously, turning to look up at him. “My friends started to like you.”

“Well, that’s good, because I quite like you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Malfoy has had his equivalent of meet the parents and survived!
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are as lovely as gingerbread loaf. :)


	17. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #17
> 
> "Harry and Draco's individual aesthetics come together to create one gingerbread house (aka: compromising, but on a cookie level.)"

When Harry’s alarm charm went off the next morning, he was very tempted to dispel it and go back to sleep, still tired from his friends’ “rescue” last night.

However, when he remembered why he had set the alarm in the first place, he dragged himself out of bed, hurriedly stumbled into some clothes, and made his way downstairs.

Malfoy was sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a cup of coffee, dark circles under his eyes.

“Morning, Potter,” he yawned. “You should tell your friends to try to rescue you in the middle of the day next time.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Harry promised, ducking into the kitchen and grabbing some coffee for himself. “Will you tell O’Leary that I’m heading out for awhile and will probably be missing lunch?”

Malfoy frowned. “Where are you going?”

“I saw a notice for a gingerbread house competition in Painswick and thought I’d check it out,” Harry said, gulping down the hot coffee as quickly as he could. The contest would be starting soon.

“Can I tag along?”

“To the gingerbread house competition?” Harry asked with surprise, setting down his empty mug on the counter.

“Yeah.”

“But, why?” Harry said slowly. “You’re not exactly the biggest fan of Christmas, if I remember correctly.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Not usually. But I’ve come to quite like the tree, so maybe I’ll enjoy this too. Besides,” he pinked slightly. “We haven’t exactly even been on a real date yet. This could be our first proper one.”

Harry’s pulse skipped a bit, still not used to Malfoy wanting to romance him. It was rather a nice feeling. “Well, alright then. But you’ll have to hurry. It starts in about ten minutes.”

***

Seven minutes later, they dashed out the door, Malfoy grumbling about the state of his hair and how “I had time for one last charm, Potter, sweet Salazar!”

But Harry plowed on determinedly, not wanting to miss something so quintessentially Christmas as a gingerbread house competition.

They ran all the way there and arrived at the community center just in time, slowing their pace to catch their breath as they stopped in front of the sign-up table.

“Are we too late?” Harry gasped, a stitch panging in his side.

The middle-aged woman behind the table looked up at them with a bemused smile. “It actually doesn’t start for another five minutes.”

“So I did have time for my hair, Potter,” Malfoy moaned, bracing himself against the table.

“Must have gotten the times mixed up.” Harry smiled apologetically, mentally high fiving himself for purposefully telling Malfoy the wrong time to give them enough time to get there.

The woman nodded sympathetically. “It happens to the best of us.”

“Well, no matter now,” Malfoy sighed dramatically. “My boyfriend and I would like to sign up to compete.”

“‘Boyfriend’?” Harry repeated uncertainly, wondering if he had heard him correctly.

“Yes, Potter, it’s a term often used to refer to a man whom one is dating,” Malfoy smirked, but Harry could see the cautious question in his eyes.

“Well then yes, my, um, _boyfriend_ , is correct. We would like to sign up.” Harry knew he must be blushing brilliantly red, but the woman behind the counter ignored the fumbling mess he was and simply directed them over to a table and told them that all the materials they needed would be provided.

“Very smooth, boyfriend,” Malfoy whispered in his ear, winking at Harry as he passed him to survey the contents of their table.

A stack of gingerbread pieces of various sizes were placed on one side of the table, with bowls of icing and candy lining the other. Utensils and a cutting board to build the house on were centered in the middle of the table to give them room to see all angles of the house.

“Hey, it’s you!”

Harry looked up from the table to see a familiar face at the table beside them: it was the barista from the coffee shop, looking remarkably pedestrian out of their uniform.

“Hi there,” Harry smiled, discreetly elbowing Malfoy and sending him a warning glance. “Nice to see you again. I don’t think I ever introduced myself; Harry.”

He reached forward to shake their hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” they said, grinning. “I’m Robin.”

“Same here. This is my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy,” Harry said pointedly, nudging Malfoy again, who elbowed him back as he reached his hand forward.

“Boyfriend?” Robin’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “I mean, it’s nice to meet you, Draco.”

“Indeed.” Malfoy nodded politely.

“Contestants, to your tables!”

“Well, I guess that’s us. Good luck,” Robin said, heading back to their table with a wave.

“Thanks! You too!” Harry called out. He turned back to Malfoy. “Well, that was nice.”

“Focus, Potter,” Malfoy snapped, heading back behind their table. “This is a competition. You can’t be chatting up the enemy!”

“Correction, it’s a _gingerbread house_ competition,” Harry said, joining him. “It’s just supposed to be fun and get you in the holiday spirit.”

Malfoy snorted. “A likely story. Try telling that to them,” he nodded towards the table on their other side, where a mom was rolling up her small daughter’s sleeves.

“I highly doubt they’re here because they want to beat out everyone else,” Harry said.

“Well, I guess we’ll see then, won’t we?”

The woman from the counter stepped out into the middle of the room. “Alright, are you all ready to begin?”

Harry joined the rest of the contestants in cheering, while Malfoy peered suspiciously at their ‘competition’.

“You will have one hour to make the best gingerbread house that you can! And your time starts now!”

Malfoy immediately grabbed for the gingerbread pieces. “Icing, Potter, now!”

“Relax, Malfoy! Try to have fun,” Harry coaxed, spreading some of the icing onto the corners of the gingerbread.

“You sound like a Hufflepuff,” Malfoy said, impatiently grabbing the bowl of icing from Harry and sticking the walls together himself.

Soon the gingerbread pieces were set together and it was time for the most important part: decorating.

Harry began looking over the candy, picking up a container of rainbow sprinkles and shaking them across the roof.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Malfoy scolded, hastily brushing off the sprinkles before they had time to set into the icing. “This is a delicate job that requires precision, Potter! You don’t just dump them on!”

Harry stared at him. “I’m pretty sure those are the literal instructions on the box.”

“Pfft. You can’t believe everything you read, Potter,” Malfoy chided, placing elaborate swirls of icing across the roof. “Now, I think that we should go for a monochromatic colour scheme to represent the political and artistic repercussions of the Muggle industrial age. A treat for the eyes and the mind.”

“Excuse me?” Harry couldn’t stop himself from laughing out loud.

“I said, it will represent the political—”

“No, I know what you said, it’s just . . . it’s a gingerbread house, Malfoy. You’re supposed to make something you want to eat afterward, not put in a museum and bore people with.”

“You’re sounding like a Hufflepuff again,” Malfoy warned, frowning down at the house.

“It’s not supposed to be complicated,” Harry tried to explain. “You just go for it! Let go! Throw candy on top of cookies and sugar!”

“I don’t know,” Malfoy shook his head doubtfully. “That sounds a bit risky, Potter.”

“Just try it,” Harry cajoled, taking hold of his hand. “How about this: you can do your fancy icing, so long as you let me put whatever candy I want on top of it.”

“You’re going to pick colours, aren’t you?” Malfoy sighed despondently.

“Yes, that is a very real possibility,” Harry said gravely. “But it will be okay. You’ll survive.”

“Alright,” Malfoy said apprehensively. “I guess we can try it.”

“Great! Now get to work on that icing!”

Malfoy begrudgingly continued his icing design, cringing when Harry began heaping bright red candy cane shavings on top of it, but slowly relaxing as he went along, even throwing on a handful of sprinkles himself, although Harry noticed that he immediately covered up the evidence with a tasteful icing snowflake.

By the end of the time limit, their gingerbread house was a perfect mess of candy and delicate icing, and Harry couldn’t be prouder.

“I love it,” he said, reaching over and squeezing Malfoy’s hand as he stared down at the house.

“It’s not bad,” Malfoy admitted. “If I squint or maybe just shut my eyes entirely.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Very funny.” He broke off a corner of the roof, popping it into his mouth while Malfoy watched, aghast.

“You broke our house!” He sputtered.

“But it tastes delicious.” Harry took off another piece and held it out to him. “Just one bite?”

“Well, fine, since you’ve already destroyed it!” Malfoy said dramatically, taking the cookie and cautiously eating it.

“So?” Harry prompted.

“It’s satisfactory,” Malfoy said, not meeting Harry’s gaze.

“Ah-ha!” Harry cried triumphantly. “You like it!”

“No, I don’t! What would give you that idea?” Malfoy got up and began walking away, Harry trailing after him, grinning widely.

“You liked it!”

“I did not!”

“You did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out that there are pretty much no songs about gingerbread, except for horrifying children's cartoon ones which somehow have over two million hits and make my soul die. 
> 
> Anyhow! Hope you're all having a lovely holiday season so far!
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are as wonderful as being finished listening to horrific gingerbread kids songs.


	18. Here we are as in olden days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #18
> 
> "A Christmas themed game of truth or dare backfires for the character who initiated it."

“Peace?” Harry offered as they stepped outside of the community centre.

“Alright,” Malfoy said begrudgingly. “But if you lose me another competition, you’ve been warned, Potter. My vengeance will be swift and deadly.”

“Understood,” Harry nodded with mock seriousness.

“Good.”

They continued walking through town, passing a few people doing some last minute Christmas shopping. The sight of them gave Harry an idea to take Malfoy’s mind off of the gingerbread house.

“Truth or dare,” he said.

“What?”

“Just pick one,” Harry insisted. “Truth or dare.”

Malfoy peered at him suspiciously. “This is another Muggle thing, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Harry said noncommittally. “Truth or dare.”

“Fine. Dare.”

“Say ‘Happy Christmas!’ as loudly as you can, right now,” Harry said with a grin.

“I will not! What an absurd idea,” Malfoy scoffed, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets.

“But Malfoy, truth or dare is a competition,” Harry said, hoping that the angle he was going for would pay off. “And if you refuse to follow through, then you lose a point.”

He held his breath, wondering if Malfoy would take the bait.

A few moments passed, then, “HAPPY CHRISTMAS!” Malfoy’s reluctant voice rang out through the street. Some of the passersby smiled at them and returned the greeting, while Malfoy ducked his head down, walking faster, blushing profusely.

“Nice! Now it’s your turn. You can either dare me to do something or ask me a question that I have to answer truthfully,” Harry explained, step skipping a bit lighter. He knew Malfoy wouldn’t back away from a competition, especially not one against him.

“Alright then, truth or dare, Potter?”

“Dare.”

“Hmm.” Malfoy looked around at his surroundings for inspiration, a mischievous glint in his grey eyes. “I dare you to go up to that man over there and tell him that you think holiday-themed drinks are the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard of.”

Harry groaned, but Malfoy dragged him over to an older gentleman who was setting up a sign advertising pies outside of his bakery.

“Excuse me, sir,” Malfoy said politely. “Sorry to disturb you, but this bloke here has something he would like to say to you.” He looked expectantly at Harry, the older man staring at them both with confusion.

Harry clenched his fists and said through gritted teeth, “Holiday-themed drinks are the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“Okay,” said the baffled man. “I mean, I’m quite partial to them myself, but if that’s how you feel, that’s fine too. To each their own.”

“Thank you for your time,” Malfoy said smoothly, smirking as he tugged Harry away.

“I can’t believe you made me denounce Christmas drinks!” Harry mourned, slumping against Malfoy’s side.

He patted him on the head, still smirking. “It was good for you. You enjoy Christmas entirely too much. It’s not healthy. You needed to bad-mouth it at least a little bit.”

“I don’t think I believe that,” Harry grumbled. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Why don’t you like Christmas?”

Malfoy was silent for a moment, and Harry worried he’d pushed too far.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to answer— well, technically you do have to answer, but we can forget about the game, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Malfoy said, slipping his hand into Harry’s and squeezing reassuringly. “I just don’t talk about it a lot.”

“And you don’t have to—”

“Really, Potter, I want to tell you.” Malfoy sighed heavily, steps slowing as he gathered his thoughts. “It’s because, well, because of the Dark Lo— I mean, ah, Voldemort.”

Harry noticed Malfoy wince at the name.

“This might sound strange, but when I was a child, I loved Christmas. Perhaps not as much as you,” Malfoy smiled wryly. “But I still found it magical. My family would decorate this huge tree that reached to the Manor’s ceiling and would host balls where the guests would all dress in their finery and dance until dawn, long after I had been put to bed. I would go to sleep listening to the faint sounds of the music. Even when I stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays, there was the feast and playing in the snow with my friends and it was still this wonderful time of the year. But then when Voldemort took over my family’s house, I had to go back and what had once been a beautiful time was now filled with fear. I went to sleep hearing tortured screams instead of music and instead of the scent of pastries and spices, the smell of dark magic filled the halls. And ever since then, Christmas has never felt the same to me. Not after that.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harry said softly, heart aching for the damage that had been done to him.

Malfoy smiled wanly. “It’s alright. Even when I looked forward to Christmas, I still couldn’t stand themed drinks, so fear not. There is still no world in which I would drink a liquid cookie.”

“Well, I suppose that is a comfort,” Harry said, understanding that Malfoy would prefer not to linger on his confession and going along with his attempt to change the subject. “Although I will wear you down someday and get you to at least have an eggnog.”

“Not even on my death bed,” Malfoy said firmly, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek in an unspoken thank you. “Alright, now it’s your turn: truth or dare?”

“I think I’ll follow suit and go with truth.”

“I was hoping you might say that,” Malfoy grinned devilishly. “So, Potter, time for you to finally spit it out: what’s my Christmas present?”

“That is not fair,” Harry protested, dropping Malfoy’s hand and stepping away from him to go on the defensive.

Malfoy shrugged, still smiling with that ‘gotcha’ expression that Harry remembered all too well. “You said that I could ask you any question and you had to respond with the truth, so I don’t see how this isn’t fair. I’m adhering to the rules of the game. Surely you’re not suggesting I should cheat, Potter?”

“No,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “You just shouldn’t ask questions you know I’m not going to answer.”

“What happened to your Gryffindor honour?” Malfoy asked slyly. “Have you given up on nobility so easily?”

Damn. Harry hated it when Malfoy was right.

He tried a different tactic. “It’s only a couple days until Christmas. Can’t you wait a little bit longer? Have some patience?”

Malfoy shrugged. “I never said I was a patient man. Besides, you’re leaving on Christmas.”

“Okay, well wait if I give it to you on Christmas Eve?” Harry amended. “That way you find out sooner, but I still feel as though I’m still giving it to you for Christmas.”

Malfoy pretended to consider his offer, staring off into the distance as if in deep thought. “Fine,” he agreed finally. “Your terms are acceptable.”

“Thank Merlin,” Harry said sarcastically.

Malfoy looped his arm through his again, grinning. “I think I’m starting to like these Muggle conventions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we're really getting down to it! Less than a week until Christmas. It's hard to believe.
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are as lovely as watching hours of Critical Role. :)


	19. All I want for Christmas is you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #19
> 
> "Write something inspired by Mariah Carey's song "All I Want For Christmas Is You."

Christmas was fast approaching and with it, the end of Harry’s time at 9544 Magnolia with Malfoy. Only two days remained until the holiday and Harry was sitting at the breakfast table, lost in memories of previous Christmases, the good and the bad. The wonderful meals at the Weasleys’ house. The laborious process of cooking dinner for the Dursleys and Aunt Marge and whichever one of her vicious dogs she brought with her. The magical feasts at Hogwarts. Going down to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer with Ron and Hermione to celebrate the end of term and the beginning of the holidays. The wonderful cloak of anonymity he had been able to wear, tucked into a booth with his friends and left alone to laugh and drink with them, without worrying about being hounded by the press.

“I miss the Three Broomsticks,” Harry mused aloud.

Malfoy looked up from his toast. “When was the last time you went there?”

“At least five or six years,” Harry said, wondering if Madam Rosmerta had aged at all.

“Hmm,” Malfoy commented, but that was all he would say, burying his nose in a copy of the _Prophet_ and remaining oddly silent for the rest of the meal.

Malfoy disappeared mysteriously for the rest of the day, with Harry only catching brief glances of him hurriedly downing a cup of coffee or a bowl of soup that O’Leary forced upon him. Puzzled at the lack of his presence, given that this was one of his last few days at the house, Harry tried to speak to him several times and suggest they play a game of cards or simply sit and read beside each other, but Malfoy brushed him off every time with some sort of excuse, running off before Harry got a chance to question him any further.

So when Malfoy abruptly slid into his chair at the dinner table just as Harry was finishing up his supper, with a pleased smile on his face, Harry barely looked up from the last dregs of his soup.

“Hello, Potter,” Malfoy said casually, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

“Hello.”

“Almost done there?” He nodded towards Harry’s bowl.

“Maybe,” Harry said shortly, still hurt by Malfoy’s day long absence.

“Well, you might want to save some room for this.” And with that, Malfoy slid a small vial of murky liquid across the table towards him.

Harry picked it up with a frown, examining the contents. “Is having pond sludge for dessert a traditional wizarding ritual?”

“No.” Malfoy’s smirk widened. “Although if I told you it was, you’d probably believe me.”

“Yes, I’m so ignorant of wizarding customs, I know, we’ve been over this before,” Harry grumbled, setting the vial back down on the table and focusing his attention on capturing the last mouthful of soup at the bottom of his bowl.

“While that may be true, I think even you know what Polyjuice potion is,” Malfoy said, watching him with a careful glance.

“Polyjuice?” Harry asked, picking up the vial again.

“Rather a useful little invention, quite handy for when one wants to go somewhere without looking like oneself, such as, I don’t know, going to the Three Broomsticks when you’re Harry Potter, famous saviour, and Draco Malfoy, infamous ex-Death Eater.”

“What are you saying?” Harry felt excitement begin to spark in his stomach in spite of himself.

Malfoy smiled charmingly, standing up, walking around the table, and offering his arm to Harry. “I’m saying that you better drink up, because you have a date at the Three Broomsticks starting about now.”

Without a second thought, Harry threw back the potion. The taste was as horrible as he remembered it and the squeezing sensation that wracked his body wasn’t too pleasant either, as his vision grew blurry and he felt his legs stretch, giving him a few more inches of height. He took off his glasses, as clearly whoever he had transformed into didn’t need them, and tucked them into his jumper pocket.

Malfoy had uncorked his own vial and Harry was now standing beside a young man with longish black hair and olive skin, although his eyes still remained the same deep grey they naturally were.

“Damn, these things really do taste bloody awful,” Malfoy said with a shudder, stretching his new form.

Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of one of the house’s darkened windows: staring back at him was a young man with curly bronze hair and blue eyes. Even though he had used Polyjuice several times before, seeing himself reflected in a completely new form was still terribly disconcerting, not to mention how strange it was to hear Malfoy’s voice coming out of another body.

“Are you coming or not? These things only last for so long,” Malfoy warned, reaching out his hand to Harry, who took it, and was instantly sucked into oblivion, as Malfoy apparated them both out of 9544 Magnolia.

They appeared with a jolt in what Harry recognized to be the alley way beside the Three Broomsticks. The pub looked the same as ever, lamp light glowing cheerily from the windows and sounds of merriment coming from inside. It was as if he was back at school again popping down to Hogsmeade for a quick butterbeer before rushing back for Quidditch practice.

“This is amazing,” he told Malfoy, who simply smirked, the expression still the same despite the different face.

Malfoy escorted him into the pub, and they found a small table in the back of the bustling dining room, in among groups of students in Hogwarts robes and smiling denizens of Hogsmeade proper itself.

Harry slid onto the familiar bench, marveling as he looked around at the busy surroundings. It felt so jarring to just be sitting in the middle of a crowd of wizarding folk and not have a single person spare him more than a passing glance. It was exhilarating. As was the young man beside him.

“Impressed, Potter?” Malfoy drawled, smug as ever.

“Very much so,” Harry said sincerely, reaching over and squeezing his hand just as a waiter came up to take their order.

“Happy holidays, folks, what can I get you?”

“I’ll have a butterbeer,” Harry said, unable to keep himself from grinning stupidly. He was out in a wizarding establishment, ordering something, and no one fucking cared!

“And I’ll have the same,” Malfoy added.

Impossibly contented, Harry leaned back, enjoying the feeling of Malfoy’s hand in his and the controlled roar of the other diners around them. Under the customers’ noise, the faint sound of radio could be heard, the announcer saying brightly “And now for our Muggle Christmas special, ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’, by someone named Mariah Carey, sure to be an educational experience!”

Harry nodded along as the song began, the clashing of the wizarding and Muggle worlds oddly satisfying. Malfoy gave him a strange look as he began humming along, singing a few of the lyrics out loud just because he could.

“This is a rather pathetic song,” Malfoy said after listening for a moment. “Very gloomy for a supposed Christmas song.”

They continued chatting, darting from Muggle music to explaining how movies worked to the new line up for the Holyhead Harpies. Their drinks arrived soon and Harry could hardly believe that he was sitting in the Three Broomsticks just casually having a butterbeer like any old wizard. Except this time he was sitting beside Draco Malfoy. Life certainly was curious, but Harry couldn’t find it in him to care that his eleven-year-old self would be horrified at the recent turn of events. He had spent enough time dwelling on the past and he wasn’t going to do that anymore, not when he was wonderfully happy right now.

“This is absolutely brilliant,” Harry told Malfoy, half leaning against his shoulder, drowsy from the late hour. “You’re brilliant.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Malfoy whispered into his hair, the light scent of caramel on his breath.

Harry turned, brushing a soft kiss over his lips, now tasting the remnants of his butterbeer as Malfoy tugged him closer, deepening the kiss. He still smelled like cinnamon and cloves, the thick fabric of his coat soft under Harry’s hands as he held onto the lapels. Harry pulled back an inch, enjoying the up-close view of his dark eyes and the sweep of platinum hair that fell onto his forehead as he stared back at Harry, half a smile ghosting over his reddened lips . . .

“Merlin, is that Harry Potter?”

“Mr. Potter, why are you at the Three Broomsticks tonight?”

“Is it true that you refused to attend any charity parties this season?”

“Are you now living in Hogsmeade?”

“Mr. Potter!”

His platinum hair . . .

Harry realized with horror that Malfoy’s appearance had reverted back to its natural form, meaning that the Polyjuice potion had worn off. People began swarming their table as whispers ran through the pub that Harry Potter was sitting in their very midst, heads craning for a look as voices began rising.

Members of the press arrived within minutes, eagerly pressing close to their table and firing off questions with the precision of gun-slingers.

Everywhere Harry turned there was noise and confusion, people screaming his name, and the illusion of peace that he had been able to enjoy for the past hour shattered, falling into crushed shards at his feet.

Then he saw Malfoy stand up, ice-cold determination in his eyes as he cast a spell that raised his voice above the screaming rabble, “STOP! Right now, all of you, stop what you’re doing this instant.”

The crowd fell into an abrupt silence, although this was due less to Malfoy’s words than the realization of his presence. More whispers began snaking through the on-lookers: _Is that . . . ? Draco Malfoy . . . Tried to kill Dumbledore . . . Comes from complete rubbish . . . is he here_ with _Harry Potter . . . ? What’s going on?_

Malfoy quelled all the mutterings with a heated glare, wand sweeping past the crowd. “Not another word. You’re all to move back this instant and we are not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening, understood?”

No one answered.

“UNDERSTOOD?!”

Slowly, the reporters slunk away from their table, peering at them from the bar, as the rest of the on-lookers gradually went back to their food, cringing fearfully away from Malfoy, who sat back down, sending them all a final scowl that seemed to promise death if anyone so much as breathed in the wrong direction.

“How did you . . . what . . . I mean . . .” Harry sputtered, staring across at Malfoy in awe.

“Being an ex-Death Eaters does have some perks,” he said grimly, eyes cast down into the bottom of his cup.

“You know there’s going to be stories about us on the front page of every newspaper tomorrow?” Harry said cautiously, fearing what Malfoy had gotten himself into by defending him.

His boyfriend shrugged. “Compared to most of my coverage, getting caught snogging the Chosen One is hardly the worst they’ve done.” He glanced over at Harry nervously. “That is of course, so long as you’re alright with it. It’s not exactly a subtle way of announcing our relationship to the world.”

Harry leaned over and kissed him soundly. “So long as you’re not scared off, I don’t care.”

A classic smirk swept across Malfoy’s face. “You’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want to get rid of me, Potter, because believe me, the press is nothing and I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am exhausted, because I have been awake for thirty hours straight, so I'll be brief:
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are as wonderful as sleep. :)


	20. I'll be home for Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #20
> 
> "Harry and Draco receive a Christmas themed howler."

“I told you it would be on the front page,” Harry said gloomily, staring down at the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that was on the kitchen table. _WIZARDING WORLD HERO AND EX-DEATH EATER SEEN TOGETHER AT PUB_ was splashed in bold across the paper, over top of a picture of him and Malfoy sitting beside each other with looks of shock of their faces as they caught sight of the reporters.

“It’s not that bad,” Malfoy said comfortingly. “It’s one of the more flattering pictures I’ve had featured in the paper. The ones of me from the Trials are just terrible. My hair would not cooperate.”

“Is that a joke?” Harry asked, glancing over at him warily.

“Of course it is, Potter, I’m trying to distract you with my dazzling wit. But obviously it’s not working.”

Harry slumped forward onto the table, enjoying the feeling of the smooth wood against his aching head. It was the day before Christmas Eve and all he wanted to do was enjoy one of his last peaceful days with his boyfriend and instead he was getting raked over in the press. Brilliant.

Just then, a tapping noise sounded and Harry looked up to see an owl outside of the dining room window, something clutched in its beak. Malfoy went over and let it in, taking the item and handing it to Harry.

“It’s addressed to you.”

Harry frowned as he looked down at the letter, then paled, noting the bloodred envelope and the faint heat rising off of the paper.

“It’s a howler,” he said quietly.

“You have to open it, or it will only get worse,” Malfoy prompted him, sitting back down at the table.

“This probably won’t be something very pleasant,” Harry warned him.

Malfoy grabbed his hand, holding it tightly. “It’s alright. It doesn’t matter what other people say.”

Letting out a long breath, Harry opened the letter.

“ _HARRY, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!”_

It was Ron.

_“MUM’S GOING ABSOLUTELY MENTAL! SHE CAN’T BELIEVE THAT I DIDN’T TELL HER THAT YOU WERE DATING SOMEONE SO THAT SHE COULD PROPERLY INVITE THEM FOR CHRISTMAS DINNER AND DIDN’T BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAID I HAD NO IDEA ABOUT IT. SHE’S SENT ME TWO HOWLERS ALREADY TODAY, SO THIS IS PAYBACK FOR THAT! HONESTLY, WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TELL THE PRESS ABOUT IT? I MEAN, I DON’T REALLY KNOW WHAT YOU SEE IN HIM BUT IF HE MAKES YOU HAPPY, I’M FINE WITH IT, BUT I REALLY WOULD HAVE APPRECIATED A HEADS UP BEFORE MUM HAD TO GO ALL BONKERS ON ME! ALTHOUGH I WILL HUNT MALFOY DOWN IF HE HURTS YOU IN ANY WAY, SO BE FOREWARNED! AND PLEASE ALSO TELL HIM HE HAS OFFICIALLY BEEN INVITED TO THE WEASLEY CHRISTMAS DINNER AND WRITE MY MUM SO SHE’LL STOP BOTHERING ME ABOUT IT. LOVE, RON.”_

Message delivering, the howler promptly burst into flames, ashes dissipating within seconds.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Harry said as soon as his head stopped ringing. “The Weasleys are like family to me, so they’re just really protective.

Malfoy wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s fine, Potter.”

Harry hesitated, wondering if he dared ask now, then pushed forward. “Would you like to come to Christmas dinner at the Burrow with me? I didn’t think you’d be comfortable with it or I would have asked sooner.”

“It’s fine, Potter,” Malfoy repeated in that same stiff voice that Harry knew meant he was put out about it. “It would be wrong for me to abandon O’Leary on Christmas anyway.”

“He could come too!” Harry insisted quickly. “Really. Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t mind at all. Please come.”

“I don’t know . . .”

Harry saw the flicker of indecision in his eyes and continued pushing, “I promise if it’s weird at all, you don’t have to, but I’d really like you to come. I’d like to spend Christmas with you.”

Malfoy glanced at him, teetering. “Alright, I guess we could come,” he said finally. “So long as you’re sure it won’t be putting them out.”

“Not at all,” Harry promised, leaning over to kiss him gratefully. “It will be a perfect Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, twenty days gone and only four chapters left! That's crazy. It honestly feels like it hasn't been a week, so that's scary as fuck.
> 
> Today's was a short one, so for that I apologize, but when you're on the twentieth chapter and not much sleep, you've only got so much to give.
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are as lovely as dryer-warmed clothes in the winter. :)


	21. T'was the night before Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #21
> 
> Today's prompt was a dialogue prompt:
> 
> "No offense, but I would not trust you to carve the turkey."

Harry had always enjoyed Christmas Eve. The Dursleys were a bit more relaxed, softened by alcohol and Dudley’s preoccupation with presents, so he’d been able to sit unnoticed, munching on leftover treats and enjoying the sight of the glittering Christmas tree. It had always been a peaceful time.

The same could not be said for this Christmas Eve.

“Mr. Malfoy, you is doing it wrong!” O’Leary scolded, yanking the mixing bowl away from Malfoy, who had flour streaked down his face and the front of his blue sweater vest.

“I was doing it exactly like you told me to!” He said hotly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Harry was certain he saw O’Leary roll his eyes, stirring the cookie dough with an expert hand before begrudgingly passing it back.

“Mr. Malfoy is wanting to mix the flour in, not fling it out of the bowl,” the house elf said sternly.

With exaggerated motions, Malfoy made a great show of incorporating the flour into the rest of the mixture, still managing to throw some onto the floor.

“Damn it!” He cursed, attempting to brush some of the powder off of his black slacks and tipping the bowl over in his distraction, dumping out more than half of the dough to join the flour on the floor. “Shit!”

O’Leary let out a wail of frustration while Harry tried to hide his smile. This same routine had been going on for a better part of an hour, and in the time since they had started, three batches of dough had ended up on the floor, with only one actually deemed worthy enough to be set aside to be rolled out. Harry had quite a bit of experience making Christmas cookies and offered to help Malfoy multiple times, but the blond had repeatedly refused his assistance, insisting stubbornly that he was ‘more than capable of stirring a few ingredients together, thank you very much, Potter’. And so here he was, spending the evening of Christmas Eve watching his boyfriend fling cookie dough around a kitchen with no end to the madness in sight.

“O’Leary is going to get more ingredients,” the house elf growled. “Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Porter will roll out the dough we have. Do not touch anything.” And with that final warning, the elf disappeared.

Malfoy scoffed. “We’ll be fine. How hard can it be?” He picked up the rolling pin, and stared down at the lump of dough. “Ahem, er, what now?”

“I’m sorry, what was that? Did I hear the great Draco Malfoy actually . . . asking for help?”

Malfoy glared at him. “Can it, Potter. Just show me how this works before O’Leary gets back so I have something to wave triumphantly in his face.”

“What a pinnacle of virtue,” Harry deadpanned.

“There’s no time for jokes, Potter!” Malfoy hissed.

“Fine.” Harry quickly showed him how to dust the counter with flour so the dough wouldn’t stick, and then how to carefully roll it out so it was just the right thickness.

“And now we need to cut out the cookies,” he explained, passing Malfoy a cookie cutter in the shape of a star.

His boyfriend peered at it suspiciously, gingerly pressing it through the dough.

“There, that wasn’t so hard,” Harry said.

Malfoy quickly filled the whole sheet of dough with stars, carefully arranging all their edges so he could use the most amount of dough.

“Alright, what do I do now?” He asked, eyes wild and hair standing on end, looking as though he’d lost a battle with a loaf of bread.

“You have to carefully peel away the extra dough and use a spatula to put the shapes on the baking tray,” Harry said, demonstrating while Malfoy watched closely, as though he was showing him how to perform heart surgery instead of simply transporting a cookie.

“Alright,” Malfoy said, breathing out a controlled sigh. “Here it goes.”

Within seconds, every perfect cut-out star was reduced to mush, as Malfoy tried to extract them with increasing frustration, finally throwing his hands up in the air and declaring, “It’s impossible.”

Harry suppressed a smile at Malfoy’s uncharacteristic rumpled appearance, slightly amazed at just how terrible he was at baking cookies. “No offense, but I would not trust you to carve the turkey tomorrow,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

His words had the exact opposite effect.

“Oh, Merlin, are they going to ask me to do that?” Malfoy asked anxiously, running a hand through his flour-streaked hair. “Is that some sort of ritual at their house, having the latest newcomer cut the turkey and make a complete arse of themselves in front of the whole family in some sort of hazing? Potter, I’ve never carved a turkey. I wouldn’t know where to begin! You’ve seen how rubbish I am with these cookies; what do you think is going to happen where there are knives involved?!”

“Hey, hey!” Harry soothed, reaching out to take his hands. “I was just joshing. Everything will be fine tomorrow and no one will ask you to prepare any kind of food, I promise.”

“I just . . . I don’t want to embarrass you or make things awkward,” Malfoy admitted quietly. “These people are your family and . . . I don’t exactly have the best past with them. I would hate to ruin Christmas for you, not when it means so much to you.”

“You won’t ruin anything,” Harry told him, tracing comforting circles on the backs of his hands. “Sure, it might be a little awkward at first, but I’ll be right there beside you the whole time, alright?”

“If you’re sure,” Malfoy said hesitantly.

“I’m completely sure,” Harry said, brushing a soft kiss on his mouth. “I want you there with me.”

Malfoy smiled softly, leaning into the kiss, when O’Leary reappeared with a ‘pop!’, clutching an armful of ingredients.

The house elf sighed dramatically as he saw the mess of dough on the counter, immediately setting them to work rerolling it, placing Harry in charge of getting the cookies on the pan.

Finally, a mere two hours after they had started the endeavour, the first tray of cookies was placed in the oven, O’Leary sagging with exhaustion.

“How about some carols while we wait?” Harry suggesting, pushing Malfoy towards the piano before he and the elf could get into it again.

Brushing the flour off of his hands and onto his now practically white slacks, Malfoy began softly playing ‘O Holy Night’, Harry and O’Leary singing along from beside the fire place.

Harry caught Malfoy’s eyes, smiling at him as he sang. It was the night before Christmas. A time of new beginnings and hope for the year to come. And there was no one he’d rather spend it with than Draco Malfoy. Somehow. Impossibly. Perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's hard to believe that actual Christmas Eve is only a few days away! I still have gifts to work on while being extremely tired, so wish me luck!
> 
> Kudos and/or comments seriously just mean so much, so thank you to everyone who has brightened my day with them! Y'all are amazing. <3


	22. In the Snow on Christmas Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #22
> 
> "Much to the annoyance of Character B, Character A opens their gifts slowly to preserve the paper."

Sunlight slowly crept across Harry’s bedspread, finally reaching his eyes, as he rolled over with a groan, not yet ready to let go of sleep. He lay there for a moment longer, half way between sleep and consciousness, something wriggling in the back of his mind. He was supposed to remember something . . . something was happening.

Christmas!

He sat upright, sliding out of bed and reaching for his jumper, before going out into the hallway. Malfoy was just coming out of his room, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Happy Christmas, Potter,” he said, looping his arm through Harry’s and brushing a quick kiss across his cheek.

They made their way downstairs into the living room, where O’Leary was standing beside the shining tree.

“Late!” He scolded. “O’Leary has been waiting for hours!”

“Happy Christmas to you as well, O’Leary,” Malfoy said pointedly, tugging Harry down onto the sofa beside the fire place.

“Happy Christmas, Mr. Malfoy,” the house elf said begrudgingly, eyes still fixated on the presents.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Harry said, leaning his head on Malfoy’s shoulder.

Since the elf had been up for so long, Harry and Malfoy gave him their gifts first. O’Leary carefully peeled back the paper on Harry’s gift, going agonizingly slowly so as not to rip any of it.

“It’s fine if you tear it,” Harry assured him.

“O’Leary wants to save the paper too,” the elf said.

Malfoy groaned, whispering to Harry, “He takes forever opening his gifts. It’s like this every year.”

Finally the elf unfolded the paper to see the knit beanie Harry had gotten at the bookstore. He wedged it over his large ears immediately, utterly delighted.

Malfoy handed him a plain box with no wrapping paper on it, obviously prepared for the elf’s opening habits, inside of which was a batch of Christmas cookies in the shape of house elves.

O’Leary thanked Malfoy, but Harry noticed that the elf eyed the cookies suspiciously, evidently not trusting his employer’s baking skills. And likely rightly so.

Malfoy opened up his gift from Andromeda and Teddy, which ended up being some strings of charmed silver and gold lights, in a not so subtle prod from Andromeda to get Malfoy to put up more decorations.

“She out-Slytherined me,” he said ruefully, leviosaing the strands around the living room to settle on the book shelves.

“The best Christmas present of all,” Harry quipped.

“Well, I guess it’s my turn then,” Malfoy said, walking across the room to the piano and sitting down behind it. “I wrote you a song, Potter. But you’re not allowed to do anything stupidly Gryffindor like cry until I’m finished.”

Harry watched in awe as Malfoy began playing from memory, the melody slow, but sweet, and unlike anything he’d ever heard before. He must have practiced when Harry was out of the house.

No one had ever written Harry a song before, at least, not to his knowledge, and the experience of sitting and listening to something and knowing that Malfoy had written in specifically with him in mind was indescribable.

It wasn’t a long piece, Malfoy coming to a rest after a few minutes of effortless playing and glanced over at him.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” he said softly, the sound of his name in Malfoy’s – no, _Draco’s_ , smooth accent a better gift than Harry could have ever asked for.

“Merry Christmas, Draco,” Harry replied, grinning like a madman at this beautiful boy who held multitudes that he never could have imagined. “Well, after that, I don’t think my present is going to hold up, but here you are anyway.”

“Finally!” Draco said dramatically, standing up to take the package from Harry’s hands. “The suspense has been killing me!”

“Trust me, we all know that.” Harry watched anxiously as Draco picked open the present, revealing a ball of royal blue wool and a set of wooden knitting needles. “I thought since you said you liked making people presents you could learn how to knit, you know, scarves and sweaters and socks and things, only if you want to of course, it was a bit presumptuous for me to think you’d want to learn a hand craft, but I just thought that—”

Draco placed a finger to Harry’s mouth. “It’s perfect, Harry. Thank you.” He kissed him sweetly, the taste of his name still on his lips.

A sharp popping noise caused them to spring apart, looking wildly around for the source. Sparkling fireworks hung in the air around them, crackling with magic fire as O’Leary sent more of them off, filling the living room.

“Happy Christmas!” He cried, sending another round into the air.

After they settled down from the initial surprise of the pyrotechnics, Harry and Draco watched in wonder as the house elf continued to set them off, until the living room was filled with the distinct tang of magical smoke. They then proceeded to have breakfast, before cleaning up the living room and stowing away their presents so that they could leave the house tidy before going to the Weasleys’.

At one o’clock in the afternoon, they began preparing to go to the Burrow. Harry packed up the last of his things, looking around the room that had been his home for the past few weeks, thinking of his bedroom in his London flat where the sunrise didn’t sprawl through his window and the bed reached both sides of the room.

Flicking the light off, he went downstairs, where O’Leary was practically bouncing with excitement, still wearing his knit beanie. In steady contrast, Draco was slowly knotting a slate grey scarf around his neck, carefully examining his appearance in the foyer mirror.

“Everyone ready to head out?” Harry asked, stepping over towards the Floo.

O’Leary smiled eagerly, while Draco nodded more hesitantly, worry darkening his eyes.

Harry placed Hermione’s bottomless bag in his coat pocket and reached for his boyfriend’s hand. “It’ll be fine. I’m right here with you.”

Draco let out a long breath. “Alright,” he said with quiet determination. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, Christmas day for the boys! How far we've come!
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are as wonderful as latkes (which I will be going to have leftovers of right now).


	23. Holly Jolly Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #23
> 
> Dialogue prompt:
> 
> "Calm down; it's just some light Christmas themed hazing."

Harry stepped out of the Floo, a bit dizzy, but began grinning when he saw the welcoming faces around him, most of them spattered in freckles.

“Hey there, Harry!”

“Happy Christmas, Harry!”

“Harry dear! So glad you could make it.”

Harry found himself passed around the living room, greeting the Weasleys. Draco held onto the back of his coat so as not to lose him in the crush, while O’Leary immediately began introducing himself to people and complimenting them on the large Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

“Alright there, Malfoy?” Ron asked, nodding towards the blond boy when Harry reached him and Hermione.

“Not bad,” Draco nodded back. “Happy holidays.”

“To you as well,” Hermione said, reaching over to give Harry a hug. “Sorry about the crowd. Everyone wanted to see you as soon as you arrived.”

“I’m glad to see them,” Harry said. “When did you and Ron get here?”

“Just a half hour ago,” she said, slipping her arm through her fiance’s.

“Welcome to the madness, Malfoy,” George said, appearing suddenly beside Ron. “Harry should have told you to run while you still had a chance.”

Draco smiled, gradually growing more at ease. “I think I’ll take my odds.” He slipped his hand into Harry’s.

Mrs. Weasley came bustling over, hugging Harry and then, to his utmost surprise, Draco.

“So glad you were able to come!” She said cheerily. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get your invitation to you sooner, but Harry never mentioned—”

“It’s no trouble at all, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco assured her. “Thank you so much for inviting me at all.”

She smiled, patting his hand. “My pleasure. Anyone who is special to our Harry is always welcome here.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Draco said, smiling softly as he glanced at Harry.

“Although you’ll have to join in with the chores,” Mrs. Weasley continued brusquely, turning to head back into the kitchen. “George, will you take him out to the garden so he can help de-gnome the place? They’re just everywhere.”

George grinned. “Sure thing, Mum!”

“Hold on, Draco’s not being sent out into the snow all the day!” Harry said firmly. “He was invited as a guest, and I thought that meant that he was to be treated like one. The war was years ago and he’s changed and I would have expected—”

“Calm down; it’s just some light Christmas themed hazing,” George assured him, gesturing for them to follow him out into the garden. “You know Mum needs to gauge a person’s work ethic before letting them waltz into the family. You had to de-gnome the garden when you first got here. Take it as a compliment. She must think that Malfoy’s going to be sticking around for awhile and wants to make sure he’s worthy of you.”

“I really don’t mind,” Draco whispered to Harry as they headed out towards the backdoor. “If it takes getting rid of a few gnomes to help your family like me, I’m more than happy to.”

“Alright,” Harry relented. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Along with Harry and Draco, Ron and Ginny assembled with them in the garden, O’Leary quickly returning back inside, mumbling something about staring at the Christmas tree.

Ginny sent a quick grin over towards Harry, who smiled back faintly. It had been years since they had been together, but it was still strange to bring someone new to her family’s Christmas dinner. And Draco Malfoy was the new person at that.

“Okay, listen up men!” George said, pacing back and forth in front of them like a general about to direct his troops into battle.

“And women,” Ginny added pointedly.

“And women,” George amended. “We are about to have the fight of a life time on our hands. Some of your comrades may fall, but I tell you, we cannot stop to mourn until we have disposed of all enemy forces. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Draco deadpanned, snapping a salute.

A smile flickered at the corner of George’s mouth, before he remembered his role. “Ahem! As most of you may recall, the way to rid the field of this enemy is by picking him up and flinging him over the fence as far as possible. We begin the attack in three, two, one!”

George took off through the garden with a wild war cry, Ginny and Ron darting towards the left side of the snowy plots.

“C’mon,” Harry said, motioning for Draco to follow him over to the other side of the garden. “You have to hunt around for the first couple, but once you get started, the rest of them will start getting curious and popping up into the open to see what all the fuss is.”

Harry rooted around one of the snow-laden trees at the edge of the garden, eventually pulling out a grubby little gnome that began hollering as soon as he grabbed it.

“Stand back,” Harry advised, sending Draco scrambling back a few feet as he began to swing the gnome in practiced circles, before letting it fly loose over the fence and far off into the field surrounding the Burrow.

“You have to get them nice and dizzy so it takes them awhile to find their way back,” Harry explained, turning around to see Draco’s look of shock at the method.

The two of them rounded up a couple more gnomes, joining George, Ron, and Ginny in the center of the garden, each holding their own struggling gnarled creature.

“Five knuts says I can lobe this one past that snow bank,” Ron challenged, beginning to swing his gnome.

“You’re on,” Draco said, taking hold of his gnome firmly and whirling it around and then releasing it, sending it flying through the air past the aforementioned snow bank.

“Nice,” Ginny said, flinging off her own gnome and reaching down for another one.

Ron swore as his halted a few feet before Draco’s, passing over the coins. “Lucky first shot, Malfoy.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Let’s see then, shall we?”

Weasleys were just as competitive as Malfoys, something Harry came to realize as he watched the four of them determinedly chucking gnomes out into the field and shouting out bets to each other: how far they could get it, how high, how many overall.

Between the four of them, the garden was cleared out in the minutes, the gnomes nothing more than dizzily wobbling specks in the distance.

“Not bad, Malfoy,” George said, slapping him on the shoulder and ruefully handing him a galleon.

“How about Quidditch?” Ginny asked, the competitive light still burning in her eyes. “You used to play at school, yeah?”

“A bit,” Draco said, watching her carefully. “What did you have in mind?”

“Snow Quidditch, three on three, first to a hundred wins.”

Draco’s grin was dangerous. “You’re on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, only one day left! Craziness! 
> 
> Christmas cookies have infested my home, so now it really feels like the holidays. :)
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are appreciated as much as cold eggnog. :)


	24. The First Noel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final prompt!
> 
> Prompt #24:
> 
> "Character A tries to convince Character B that they *are* Santa Claus."

The Quidditch game was one of the most ruthless ones Harry had ever played, and that was including the match when dementors had shown up and tried to suck out his soul.

He and Draco were placed on opposite teams, with Harry playing with Ron and Bill and Draco playing with Ginny and George. With such small teams, each one only had two Chasers and one Keeper, the Quaffle being flung viciously across the large field in back of the Burrow.

Hermione had a horrible time trying to referee, with blatant cheating and infractions occurring every other minute, until she eventually just gave up and said if they wanted to break the rules, she would rather be inside in front of a warm fire while they did it.

Draco’s team barely inched out a victory just as they were all called in to do presents, and Harry knew Draco was never going to let him forget it, smirk seemingly etched permanently on his face.

They warmed up by the fire as gifts were exchanged, Harry gratefully tugging on the new jumper Mrs. Weasley had knit him as they were heading into dinner. A feast was laid out across the Weasleys’ long table, which was a rather cramped fit, people tucking in their elbows and apologizing when they needed to reach for something.

By this point, all hints of Draco’s nervousness were gone and he was joking around jovially with George as if he’d been coming over for Christmas since the beginning of time, folding a casual arm around Harry’s back by the time dessert rolled around.

Stuffed to the brim with Mrs. Weasley’s excellent cooking, everyone crowded into the living room again, piling on the couches and chairs, while some stretched out on the floor. O’Leary helped Mr. Weasley pass out large cups of apple cider and eggnog, Celestina Warbeck crooning from the radio in the corner.

Harry curled up against Draco, chatting with Hermione and Ron about their wedding plans. It was going to be a spring event, held in the backyard of the Burrow like Bill and Fleur’s. Harry loved seeing his friends’ eyes light up and how they beamed when they looked at each other, hands intertwined between them, Hermione’s ring glinting in the low fire light.

It grew later in the evening, the sun fading from the sky, as their voices grew louder, bolstered by alcohol. Mrs. Weasley and Bill began singing along to Celestina and Mr. Weasley got up and began clinking his glass for a speech.

“Thank you all for coming to Christmas,” he said, smiling widely at the people seated around him. “I would just like to announce that there is something I’ve been keeping from you all these years. I’m really Father Christmas.”

George’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I knew it!” He said convincingly, patting the sloshed Mr. Weasley on the shoulder. “Good on you to come out and say it, Dad.”

Draco snorted, absent-mindedly tracing lines on the back of Harry’s hand as they watched Mr. Weasley continue to insist that he was in fact Santa Claus, to O’Leary’s increasing confusion and everyone else’s amusement, George only egging him on.

“I’ll be right back,” Harry whispered to Draco, reluctantly pulling away from his warm embrace. “I should get him some water or he might start saying he’s Merlin by the end of the night.”

Draco nodded, brushing a soft kiss on Harry’s knuckles as he stepped away. Hermione caught Harry’s eye knowingly and smiled at him as he made his way into the kitchen, reaching for one of the few clean glasses left in the house and filling it with water.

Harry stared out through the window over the sink, surprised to realize he was unconsciously smiling. Just at the thought of going back into a room of people. People who knew and loved him for who he was, not what he had done. People who had become his family. And a man who had been his enemy and was now so much more he was afraid to think too long on it.

It was a strange sensation, happiness.

Still grinning, Harry turned back to walk out of the kitchen, just in time to see Draco slip out of the back door, coat slung over his arm.

Quickly bringing the water to Mr. Weasley, Harry hurried out after him, his breath hanging like fog in the cold air as he looked around the garden, finally spotting Draco sitting on a small bench among some bare-branched bushes.

He carefully made his way over, silently sitting down beside him. “Are you alright?” He asked quietly, voice sounding unnatural in the still night air.

“The Weasleys have been far kinder to me than I deserve,” Draco said, staring down at his hands.

“They’re good people.”

Draco looked over at him. “Why don’t you live with them? They clearly think of you as a son and I’m sure would be more than happy to take you in. You could leave the bustle of London and come enjoy the peaceful anonymity.”

“They still leave near a wizarding village,” Harry explained heavily. “Someone would recognize me and then the press would be everywhere and they’d never have a moment of peace again. I can’t do that to them. They’re my family.”

Draco nodded, looking back down at the scuffed snow in front of him, lost in thought. Shivers of cold slipped through the heavy knit of Harry’s jumper, but he suppressed them, certain that Draco wasn’t finished.

“I’m glad I got to meet you again, after all these years,” Draco said finally. “If Granger hadn’t found that article in the _Prophet_ , I never would have gotten to really know you.”

“We would have spent the rest of our lives casually hating each other from afar,” Harry said, something aching inside of him at the thought that he always would have thought Draco Malfoy was a slimy git if not for sheer dumb coincidence. If he wasn’t harassed by the crowd. If he hadn’t gone to his friends’ house. If Hermione didn’t read the _Daily Prophet_. If he’d just gone to a random small town and stayed with a stranger and gone home again, exactly the same as before.

“Harry, is there anyway you could put off your return to London just a little bit longer?” Draco burst out, turning to him with a sliver of desperation in his eyes. “Just come and stay with me until at least New Year’s?”

Harry’s heart leapt as he scrambled to get the words out. “Yes! Yes, of course, I’d love to. Thank Merlin.”

Draco sagged with relief, running a hand through his hair. “Brilliant.” He leaned over and kissed Harry fervently. The kind of kiss that promised many more to come. Over days and weeks and years.

And Harry couldn’t imagine a better Christmas gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, final chapter! This has been a crazy ride y'all. Writing over thirty thousand words in twenty-four days. I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> First, thank you so much to larosesombre for her absolutely amazing prompts and for coming on this adventure with me! If you're into Deep Space 9 Star Trek fanfic, you can go read my prompts and her beautiful words right here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820303/chapters/68109367
> 
> And secondly, thank you to everyone for reading, kudoing, and commenting! Your support means so much to me and I love hearing your thoughts and chatting with you, so thank you so much!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please check out my other Drarry fics and subscribe to stay updated on my future projects, of which I'm sure there will be many more of, because I can't get enough of them. :)
> 
> Happy holidays and much love,
> 
> Scarlett ❤️


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